


Let It Go

by defying3reason



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anxiety Disorder, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, M/M, Nursing, Panic Attacks, Rehabilitation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-07
Updated: 2015-01-21
Packaged: 2018-01-03 22:47:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 35,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1073942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/defying3reason/pseuds/defying3reason
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire's drinking is getting out of hand. After sustaining injuries severe enough to require physical therapy, Grantaire winds up in the nursing home Joly works at. His friends struggle to try to help him, severely misjudging his relationship with Enjolras in the process.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys. So anyone who's read College Boys and High School Girls is likely aware that I work in a nursing home in the activities department. It's a difficult job in more ways than one. Generally I'm okay at dealing with the emotional trauma that comes with the stuff I've seen, but recently I've been working with a resident that's getting under my skin. The guy's pretty much destroyed himself with his drinking, and it's especially tragic because he's too damn young to be in a long term care facility chilling with 90+ year old dementia patients.
> 
> This fic is going to be different from my usual stuff. Whereas I often use my writing to work through issues, I'm usually primarily concerned with the craft of storytelling. Plot structure, transitions, technical details, anything like that is on the back burner here. This is writing-as-therapy pure and simple, and it's probably not going to be a very happy story. I figured it was best to tip you guys off before you started reading.
> 
> Also, I'm not medically trained. I spend a ridiculous amount of time around people who are, and interacting with folks who receive a lot of medical treatment, but it is in no way a specialty of mine. Medical jargon is going to be minimal, and the descriptions of injuries and symptoms are going to be vague. I don't know how cocaine rendered one of my guys all-but-vegetative, I just know that it happened and that all I can do with this guy is play him music and help him push a ball across a table tray.
> 
> Also, this fic has nothing to do with any of my other Les Mis fics.

The Thursday night meeting should have been productive. They had a lot to go over in the wake of the recent strikes; first the Black Friday demonstrations, then the fast food workers strikes. Enjolras was certainly on fire, despite never having worked a low-wage job and likely never needing to at any point in his life. To his dismay, he seemed unable to capture the attention of those who should have had the largest investment in his words.

Joly was slumped over, practically drooling on Bossuet’s shoulder. He was fresh from a twelve hour shift at the nursing home, where he made a frozen eleven dollars an hour despite having been a CNA for two years. On his other side Feuilly appeared to be sleeping with his eyes open, wiped out from one of his three retail jobs. Courfeyrac, who picked up the occasional gig at a restaurant or café whenever his parents cut him off in a desperate (and futile) attempt to teach the jovial slacker responsibility, was distracted by his phone. Accordingly, only those of his friends who didn’t have to work for a living were following Enjolras, and they weren’t as engaged as they might have been.

With a dissatisfied sigh, Enjolras sat down at the table and irritably tapped his fingers against the surface. “Are we done here?”

“Thank God. Let’s get you home to bed.” Bossuet started to stand up, and then belatedly realized that Enjolras was being critical, not sincere. “Oh come on Enj, you’ve been preaching to the choir for almost an hour. Can’t you just tell us what time we need to be at the picket and let us go? Jol’s been changing adult diapers and yelling at demented old deaf guys to use their walkers for half a day. He needs to sleep at least a little before he gets up and does it all over again.”

“M’fine. Worker rights r’important,” Joly slurred. Enjolras assessed his friend, took pity, and ever so subtly inclined his head.

Bossuet mumbled something inaudible but likely rude under his breath as he herded his bestie out of the café. Looking equally concerned, though less crabby about it, Jehan passed his hand in front of Feuilly’s face a few times, then gently shook him awake.

“Hm? Whassa?”

“Meeting’s over, Feuilly. Do you…need a ride home?” Jehan asked.

Feuilly rubbed at his eyes. “I’ve got my truck. What?”

Jehan looked nothing short of terrified. He held out his hand. “Give me your keys. You’re not driving home like that.”

Feuilly gave a token protest, but ultimately he let Jehan drive his truck. Bahorel invited himself along, even though neither Feuilly nor Jehan lived anywhere near him, and then Combeferre bid them a good night, promising Enjolras he’d update their facebook event about the next demonstration.

Disappointed but not exactly surprised about how things had gone, Enjolras started cleaning up his notes and sorting their empty cups and trash for the poor barista stuck cleaning up their table. Then he noticed that Courfeyrac was still sitting in the corner staring at his phone.

“Courfeyrac? Is everything okay?”

“Huh?” Courfeyrac gave a small start, then flashed a smile just a bit too practiced. “Oh, yeah. You know me, easily distracted by all that unimportant social stuff you try to keep on the absolute periphery of your life.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. He started fitting his notebooks and pamphlets back into his bag. “Struggling to keep your girlfriends from finding out about each other again?”

“That was a pain in the ass. I’ve decided to keep to strict monogamy. Technically, I didn’t do anything wrong last year because I didn’t formally commit to any of those girls, and yet they were all pissed off and bitchy when they met up at that party anyway. I still think that was their mistake and not mine.”

“Mm hm. I’ve engaged with your deflection, now will you respect our friendship and my intelligence enough to tell the truth?”

Courfeyrac dragged a hand through his unruly hair and pocketed the phone. “I’m worried about Grantaire. He blew me off this morning, no one saw him in classes today, and he skipped out the meeting. That’s an entire day he’s unaccounted for, and considering how he’s been recently…”

Enjolras gave a slow nod. “I’d been meaning to ask you about him. He’s…moodier. Is something the matter?”

Courfeyrac gave a hollow laugh. “Everything. The usual, isn’t it?”

“Well, it’s just…he seems worse. And considering everyone usually just plays off his darker moods as his personality, the fact that I’m not the only one bothered by it is concerning. Do you want to swing by his place and check up on him?”

“I think I’d better.”

“Alright. Let me finish packing up. I’ll go with you.”

Courfeyrac helped Enjolras carry their used cups up to the counter, they tossed the remaining trash, and then once the rest of Enjolras’ socialist propaganda was stowed in his bag, the two of them left the café together. Enjolras questioned Courfeyrac during the short walk from the Musain to Grantaire’s apartment, and found out that the artist and the flirt were supposed to have met for coffee between classes. Courfeyrac hadn’t initially thought much of it when Grantaire had blown him off, as it wasn’t an uncommon occurrence, but he’d gotten suspicious when Grantaire missed the meeting, and he’d been on his phone checking with acquaintances to find out whether Grantaire had been at his classes or not.

By the time they got to Grantaire’s building, Courfeyrac gave no pretense of his usual light mood. Only Enjolras’ stoic nature kept his worry from consuming him. For once, he was _hoping_ they’d find Grantaire in a drunken stupor, unaware of the time of day and unashamed at alarming his friends. He could be as gratingly inconsiderate as he wanted as long as he was okay.

They weren’t kept in suspense long. They found Grantaire in a heap on the second landing of his narrow, steep as fuck stairwell. His left leg and right arm were at worrying angles, and he had an ugly bruise on his forehead.

Enjolras and Courfeyrac both dropped to his side. “Grantaire? Are you-”

“-in a fucking lot of pain,” he grunted. “Fell. I tripped and, I don’t have my phone and, shit…shit…hospital. I need to go to the hospital. Fucking hurts.”

“Have you been here all day?” Courfeyrac asked, while Enjolras took his phone out and called 911.

“Dunno…don’t remember…fuck.”

Courfeyrac tried to get something sensible out of Grantaire, with Enjolras’ calm, steady voice in the background as he gave as much relevant information as he could gather to the dispatcher. He remained on the phone until the ambulance arrived, at which point he and Courfeyrac hung back and let the medical professionals do their work.

Grantaire was quickly and efficiently loaded into the ambulance. Enjolras traded a few more words with one of the drivers, then he and Courfeyrac headed back to the Musain to get into Enjolras’ car and follow along to the hospital. It wasn’t until he was sitting behind the wheel that Enjolras realized his hands were shaking.

“Courfeyrac, I don’t think I can drive.”

“I’m good. Slide over.”

They traded places and Courfeyrac drove to the hospital. Because he was a good friend he pretended Enjolras wasn’t crying, and because he was scared shitless as well, he pretended not to hear Enjolras’ pained whisper.

“He could have killed himself.”

* * *

Grantaire’s drunken tumble down the staircase cost him. Not only did he suffer the obvious breaks in his leg and arm, but he fucked up his hip and wrist as well, meaning even after he was clear to leave the hospital he still had to do a stint of rehabilitation and physical training to be able to walk again, and in the meantime he needed assistance. His doctors really wanted him to do rehab-rehab as well, as Grantaire couldn’t even pretend the accident wasn’t alcohol related, but he flat out refused anything other than physical rehabilitation.

He wound up at the nursing home Joly worked at, though obviously not on one of the geriatric long-term care wards. To the surprise of pretty much everyone but Bossuet (“Honestly, do you guys not listen when Joly talks?”) half the second floor of the facility was occupied by men and women in their forties and fifties doing stints of rehab. Grantaire was one of the youngest residents the home had ever served, but he wasn’t the youngest and he wasn’t as much of a rarity as everyone expected.

He still wasn’t happy about having to spend an undetermined amount of time living in a low budget nursing home, but it was the best option he could get with their school’s shitty health insurance.

In the absence of family willing to help their self-destructive alcoholic fuck up, Joly, Bossuet, Bahorel, and Courfeyrac helped him move his things into the facility. He was wheelchair bound and in a lot of pain, but he tried his best to hide it and look at least a little less pathetic (at first, anyway). Grantaire wanted to put his clothes away himself, but Joly detected some irregularity or other, a quick breath or a quiet groan or something else you needed the senses of a medically trained hypochondriac to notice, and yelped at him to stop.

“You’re leaning too much! You’re going to put stress on your hip if you do that. Here, lock the chair. Never mind, I’ll do it. These chairs are shit. You have to really push the breaks to get them to lock.” Joly lightly smacked Grantaire’s good hand away from the dresser, wheeled him clear across the room, then locked his chair and grasped the waistband of his sweatpants.

“What the hell are you doing?” Grantaire squeaked.

“Shut up.” Then Joly hauled him up by the pants and resettled him into the chair in a position that was, admittedly better for his posture and his aching body, but the experience of it was still humiliating. To add insult to injury, he positioned a pillow against Grantaire’s right side to keep him from slouching over. “The chair’s too big for you. I’ll yell at the unit manager and see if we can get a smaller one. Or maybe a geri-chair…Guys, I’ll be right back. Don’t let him lift anything while I’m gone.”

As soon as the fussy CNA was out of the room, Grantaire made to unlock his chair but was firmly stopped by Bahorel’s hands clamping down on his shoulders. “Dude, nurse-Joly just gave an order. Don’t give him a reason to flip out on us.”

“You’re twice his fucking size. You are not fucking scared of _Joly_ ,” Grantaire snapped. “I’m not a fucking ninety year old with Alzheimer’s. Seriously, you guys are not going to let him treat me like one of his patients. And he’s not even a nurse.”

“He will be next year,” Bossuet said. “Where do you want your sketchbook?”

“The dumpster. I can’t fucking draw like this.” Grantaire held up his right arm, showing off his as-yet unmarked cast. “I don’t know why Courf packed the damn thing.”

“Because you’re here to get better, and when you’re better you’re going to draw,” Courfeyrac said simply. “Put it on top of the closet for now. Joly says people wander around these places and go through other peoples’ things. We don’t want of the old demented guys walking out of here with R’s stuff.”

“You wanna borrow a TV?” Bahorel asked. “I’ve got a spare in my parents’ basement.”

“I don’t fucking care.” Grantaire wanted to cross his arms over his chest and at least look as petulant as he felt, but between the pillow and the cast he couldn’t manage it. “Will someone wheel me so that I’m facing the wall? I don’t want to look at your ugly faces anymore.”

“R…” Courfeyrac gently touched his arm (thankfully the one that wasn’t throbbing), and all he could do to show his displeasure was flinch away from him. He couldn’t do anything on his own. “It’ll get better. We’re going to help you through this.”

“You should have just left me at the bottom of the stairs.”

Courfeyrac reeled backwards as though he’d been slapped, the encouraging smile slipping right off his affable face. “You know what, I can’t. If you’re going to be this way, I need a break.” He stalked out of the room with his hands in his pockets, leaving Bahorel and Bossuet trading uncomfortable looks while Grantaire ducked his head, desperately wishing he hadn’t been wheeled to the center of the damn room.

Then Courfeyrac charged back in. “You know what, fuck you! You’ve been putting us all through fucking agony with your-your _shit_ for ages now and you don’t even have the decency to let us worry about you. What the fuck is wrong with you, Grantaire? We’re your friends. We’re like fucking family. How can you do this shit to yourself and then get mad at us for being worried and for wanting to help you? And how can you just say something like that? I’ve had fucking nightmares about finding you dead, you asshole. So has Jehan, and Combeferre won’t even go to your place anymore because he’s afraid of what he’ll find there, and Enjolras-”

“Enjolras’ life would be infinitely improved without me in it,” Grantaire said, dripping bitterness. “So don’t even bother trying to guilt trip me with him. And for the record, you don’t have to worry about me. None of you should. I’m not worth it.”

“You’re worth it to us, fuckstick. We care about your whiny ass,” Bahorel said. “So fucking get better, and I’m not just talking about the broken leg and the arm and all that. Because if you do another one of these halfway destroying yourself bits, you won’t need to bother with the rehab. I’ll just put you in the fucking ground.”

“Seriously,” Bossuet said with a shaky laugh, looking vaguely terrified.

His friends set up the room in a determined silence after that, ignoring Grantaire while he ignored them, feeling incredibly exposed still sitting in the center of the damn room, still unable to move himself or contribute or do much of anything other than watch things happen around him.

After a seeming eternity Joly returned with the exciting news that he’d scheduled a meeting about getting Grantaire a more appropriate wheelchair. He followed it up by letting him know that he’d changed his schedule around and his assignments so that he’d be Grantaire’s CNA for the majority of his first week at the home.

Grantaire stared at him in horror. “No.”

Joly’s face fell. “I thought…I thought it’d be easier if it was someone you knew.”

“Well you thought wrong. It’s your job to change and shower people and…and help them pee. Joly, I don’t want you doing that for me.”

“Do you want it to be a stranger helping you?” Joly asked, sliding into the rarely seen ‘don’t fuck with me’ posture that generally only Bossuet and Musichetta encountered, and even then only because they were constantly around the kid. He almost never went into bad-ass mode.

Sensing he’d crossed a line, Grantaire faltered. Rather than give voice to the abject humiliation he felt, he gave a curt nod and then lowered his head. “I wasn’t kidding about facing me towards the fucking wall.”

Joly chewed his lip, looking heartbroken, and then quietly asked the others to clear out of the room for a moment. Once they were gone he shut the door, pulled the privacy curtain, and then wheeled Grantaire over towards the window. He sat down on the bed next to him, but out of eye view unless Grantaire turned just right.

“’Taire, I’m so sorry. I was trying so hard to be helpful that I lost sight of pretty much the most obvious thing right now. Adjusting to one of these places sucks. I want to help. You’re one of the most important people in my life and you’re hurting and I want to be useful.”

Grantaire gave another dull nod. “Yeah, I wouldn’t mind being useful myself. As it is, I can’t even look at a fucking wall without someone’s help. I used to think I was useless before, but I’ve descended to full out burden stage.”

“Please, please trust me and let me help you. I know what I’m doing. I’m not the most experienced CNA we’ve got, but everyone says I am one of the most enthusiastic. Besides that, I don’t trust anyone else to look after one of my friends. I promise, a friendly face will make a huge difference while you’re here. Which, if I have my way, will be as short as is safely possible.”

Grantaire made the effort to face Joly and mustered the weakest, thinnest smile he was capable of. It probably came across as more of a grimace, but it was still enough to get Joly to light up. “I’ll try to be less of an asshole.”

Joly darted forward and gave him a hug that was the oddest mix of enthusiasm and caution. “And I’ll be the best CNA possible. I promise, I won’t let you down. We’ll have you out of here in a jiffy, I promise. Do you feel any better?”

“A…a little.”

“Do you need anything?”

Grantaire shook his head. Joly didn’t look like he was buying it. “Fine. I…I’m in a lot of pain.”

“How long have you been sitting in that chair?”

Grantaire shrugged, and instantly regretted it as it set off new flares in his sore arm. “I got up around noon today, so about six hours now, right?”

He’d been expecting Joly to grab a nurse so that he could have pain medication. He may not be allowed to self-medicate with alcohol thanks to his constant minders (and his cigarette consumption was going to be cut down drastically thanks to scheduled smoking hours), but he figured prescription medications could make up some of that difference.

Joly had other things in mind. He grabbed one of the CNAs that was actually on the clock, and together the two of them got Grantaire into bed and then positioned him with a mess of pillows. He was still achy, but in a muted capacity. Joly definitely knew what he was doing.

His friends hung out with him for another couple of hours, but he wasn’t the most captivating company when he was sore and pissy, and concerned though they may have been, they did have places to go and things to take care of. Eventually they trickled out. Joly was last to leave. He reminded Grantaire about the call light and promised to see him bright and early for his seven am shift.

They left Grantaire staring at the ceiling tiles, wishing he’d fallen at the right angle to snap his neck instead of his leg.

* * *

Joly got to work about half an hour early. There was no chance Grantaire was awake at six thirty in the morning (well, unless he hadn’t gone to bed yet), but he still opened the door a crack and gave it a few gentle knocks anyway.

Grantaire was in a double room, but at the moment he was the only occupant. The A bed had gone home the week before and they’d yet to fill it. Grantaire’s bed was the furthest from the door, closest to the window and the bathroom. He had the blinds pulled as well as both privacy curtains, meaning the room was impossible to see into. Joly closed the door again, then went along to the nurse’s station to drop his things off and get ready for his shift.

He checked in on Grantaire again just before the breakfast trays came up around eight o’clock. The room looked much the same, but as the sun had risen he could see a bit more. He giggled when he saw the page Grantaire had ripped out of his sketchbook and taped to the privacy curtain. In a scrawl rendered extra messy by virtue of being written with his non-dominant hand, Grantaire had written ‘fuck off if you don’t have pain meds.’ As the surly artist still appeared to be sleeping, Joly went to the dining room to help the other folks on his assignment, quietly wondering who from the overnight shift had helped Grantaire with the sign.

He kept periodically checking in on Grantaire, finding no change in the room, and getting progressively more concerned. He knew his friend wasn’t an early riser, but the kid had also gone to bed before ten the night before. He should have been up by _now_ , and when he woke up he was going to need help.

He went in again after he finished getting his residents set up in the dining room for lunch. This time Joly knocked boldly on the door. “R? It’s me.” He walked past the first privacy curtain, then pulled back the one on Grantaire’s bed.

Grantaire was in the same position Joly had left him the night before. Joly swore under his breath. Grantaire was at risk of bed sores if he kept this shit up, which really shouldn’t have been an issue for a relatively able bodied twenty something.

“R?” Joly gently tapped his shoulder. He made a vague gurgling noise that might have had an f-bomb in it, so Joly shook him a bit and finally the familiar blue eyes snapped open.

“What the fuck do you want?”

Joly snatched his hand back and frowned. “It’s almost noon. You’ve got to get up and eat something or you’re going to get me in trouble.”

“Why do you fucking care if I eat something or not?”

“Because I’m your CNA, remember?”

“Urgh…” It looked like there was a chance he’d managed to forget that while he slept.

“I’ve got to record your meal intake for the day, and if you skip two meals I’m going to be chewed out. I might get fired if you become the first twenty four year old in the history of our facility to get bed sores. I can help you back to bed after lunch, but can you wake up for just a little bit?”

“I liked being asleep. S’almost as good as blacking out.” Grantaire rubbed at his eyes with the heel of his good hand. “Fucking Christ. I can’t even get the gunk out of my eyes by myself. Fuck everything.”

Joly grabbed a tissue and wiped Grantaire’s eyes himself, then helped him sit up in bed. “Do you need to use the bathroom?”

Grantaire’s face set in a scowl. “None of your god damn business.”

“Actually, entirely my business. Like, one of the biggest parts of my profession at the moment is helping people go to the bathroom. Incontinence is one of the most significant factors in a family’s decision to send a loved one to a nursing home,” Joly returned, as though Grantaire’s manner didn’t sting.

He was used to surly residents. Everyone had a hard time adjusting to living in a home. He was even used to Grantaire lashing out at him, though that was rarer. Grantaire tended to be more of a jovial drunk, but Joly had seen the angry side of his drunkeness more times than he cared to acknowledge.

He wasn’t super comfortable taking care of one of his friends like this, but he’d hoped Grantaire would see what he was trying to offer him and respect that. The situation didn’t have to be as uncomfortable as it was.

“Well I don’t need to piss, so you can keep your hands off my junk for now.”

“Grantaire, I don’t-”

“Will you just get the damn breakfast tray or whatever the fuck it is you’re forcing me to do?”

Joly took a quick breath through his nose and informed Grantaire in a voice that only shook a little that it was actually lunch time. Then he walked out of the room with as much dignity as he could muster and just managed to refrain from slamming the door.

The rest of the shift went about as well. Grantaire refused to tell Joly when he needed to use the bathroom, but of course he was incapable of getting there himself so he ended up wetting the bed. If he’d been unpleasant at the specter of assistance getting to the toilet, he was downright malicious while Joly cleaned him and stripped off the soiled bedding. He ate as little as possible throughout the day, which made sense as he was used to getting the brunt of his calories through alcohol and not food, but it still gave Joly a mild anxiety attack when he had to record Grantaire’s meals in his books.

Bossuet and Musichetta found him in the dining room staring at an unpleasantly large binder and tugging on his hair when they arrived at the end of his shift. They figured they’d combine picking Joly up with visiting Grantaire, though one look at the shaky CNA had them reevaluating their plan.

“Hon, are you okay?” Musichetta strode over to him and started rubbing his shoulders, while Bossuet plopped a latte in front of him. In typical Bossuet fashion, it was sticky on the sides from having been spilled at least once during the car ride and trek up to the second floor.

Joly smiled gratefully at the both of them. “Yeah. It’s been a rough day. Grantaire’s…not the most, um, _respectful_ patient I’ve ever had to deal with.”

“I figured he’d be a pain in the ass. I thought you were nuts for going out of your way to get him on your assignment,” Bossuet said. He sat down across from Joly and shot him an expression of the utmost sympathy.

“He needs help settling in. Guys, it’s scary, going to this level of dependence. I can keep my cool and remind him that it’s temporary and that he’ll get better-”

“I don’t know if that’s the best track,” Musichetta said, looking thoughtful. She remained standing behind Joly, alternating the neck and shoulder rub with carding her long fingered hands through his hair. “I mean, the idiot did this to himself with his excessive drinking. We should probably remind him constantly that if he doesn’t watch himself, he’s going to be stuck in one of these places for the rest of his life.”

“If he doesn’t kill himself first, which seems to be his preference based on his mental state. Which is _why_ he’s trying to drink himself to oblivion in the first place,” Joly snapped. “I don’t think kicking him while he’s down is the best strategy, personally.”

“Well I don’t like the idea of him kicking you while he’s down, and I’ll tell him so myself if you want me to.”

Joly was starting to get the feeling that Musichetta might be better off waiting in the car. “That’s okay, ‘Chetta.”

“If nothing else,” Bossuet said, “Perhaps we could introduce him to those guys you were telling me about on the long term ward. The guys in their forties and fifties?”

Joly frowned. “I don’t think I’m allowed to use residents as a scared straight program for my friends.” He knew exactly who Bossuet was referring to. There were a few guys on the third floor who’d gotten themselves into the nursing facility decades before their peers by destroying themselves with substance abuse. One of them was alright mentally, but it was difficult to tell as he couldn’t speak or move of his own volition. The poor man was even on a feeding tube. Another one was brain damaged; too shaky to walk, subject to auditory hallucinations, and like most of the residents, incontinent. No amount of physical therapy could fix what they’d done to themselves.

Frankly, Grantaire’s behavior had scared everyone in the group, but Joly had more fuel for his fears than the rest of their friends. The prospect of seeing the man wheelchair bound, unable to care for himself or even remember his friends’ names terrified him. He could see Grantaire winding up with Jack and Dex on the third floor.

“I’m just about done with my books,” Joly mumbled, trying to wrench his thoughts away from the direction Bossuet had sent them. “I want to have a quick chat with the three to sevens that have Grantaire tonight. You guys should start your visit now.”

Musichetta’s grin made him reconsider his words. “And be nice!” he called as they left the dining room.

Joly’s quick word with the nurse and the CNA assigned to Grantaire turned into a twenty minute rant that ultimately had his coworkers grasping his arm and walking him down the hall towards his friend and girlfriend. “It’s okay, Jol. We won’t hurt your friend,” Hilda, the CNA, assured him.

“I-I know you won’t. It’s just…his family’s not going to advocate for him, so I’m trying to step up. Plus…he’s not going to be an easy assignment. I’m sorry in advance for anything he says or does, but please don’t take it personally and please-”

“Take care of him, yes,” Tyler, the nurse, assured him with an amused smile. “It’s kind of the job description."

“Be careful about how many pain meds you give him. He’s got substance issues.”

“Yep. That came up in report. Seriously kiddo, we’ve got this. You should head home and get some sleep. Aren’t you back here again in the morning?”

“Y-yeah. Alright. Thanks guys.” Joly flashed them a grateful smile, then finally went to find Musichetta and Bossuet.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Joly expected the first few days of Grantaire’s stay at the home to be awkward and uncomfortable for the both of them. Really, how could they not be? He woke up each morning expecting to have kind of a shitty day at work, and hoped that mentally preparing himself for the challenge would help him meet it. Hell, if the guy was going to be stubborn about it, the entire first week was probably going to suck.

He didn’t expect to wind up huddled under the nurse’s station crying at least once a shift.

To be fair, it wasn’t really Grantaire’s fault. After the first two days he wasn’t usually trying to be an asshole. He’d lose his temper and yell at whatever poor soul put themselves in his path when he got frustrated, but he’d apologize almost immediately after his tantrum. The expressions of utter defeat and self-loathing Grantaire wore afterwards were worse than even his most biting insults.

What got to Joly was seeing his friend so vulnerable, so weak, and still in so much pain. He couldn’t do more than he’d already taken on to help Grantaire, and it was driving him nuts to be a witness to pain he couldn’t soothe. It wasn't in his nature as a caregiver to let a friend suffer like that.

Thanks to the nature of his job, Joly was seeing things Grantaire went to great lengths to keep hidden. He overheard the psychologically damaging exchanges Grantaire traded with his father. The one time the man showed up to visit was memorable; he stormed out screaming at Grantaire to kill himself properly and to stop bothering his family with these selfish cries for attention. More than once, Joly went into the room to administer care and had to pretend he hadn’t seen Grantaire crying. And then there were the scars…

The first time Joly helped Grantaire shower was a memorable experience.

Joly knocked on the door and strode confidently into the room, feigning a cheerfulness that didn’t quite succeed in masking his trepidation. “Hello, R. I’m going to get written up if you refuse another shower, so unlock your wheels and prepare to get nekkid.”

Grantaire let out a long suffering sigh, making no movement whatsoever to take the brakes off his chair. “I have a feeling I could get you written up for the way you talk to me. You’re not exactly professional.”

“But you won’t say jack shit to the charge nurse because you love me.”

“No, I fear Musichetta. The end result may be the same, but the cause is quite a different beast.” Grantaire dropped the light bravado, expression troubled. “Can’t I just, like rinse my hair, wipe myself down with a facecloth and call it a day? Do we really have to do this?”

“I suppose we don’t have to, but you know…you’ll probably feel better if you’re clean. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable-”

“I know. I know, you’ve been really good. Better than I fucking deserve, at any rate. But this is different from helping me get to the toilet. You-you always leave and let me do my business in privacy. I don’t imagine the shower will work like that.” Grantaire had been at the facility long enough to notice how paranoid the employees had gotten about resident falls. He rightly figured that the CNAs were cautious regarding their residents and slippery, wet surfaces.

Joly sat down on the bed, bringing him roughly eye level to Grantaire and his wheelchair. “You can trust me. And you really will feel better once you’re clean. Bossuet and I got you new pajamas to change into once you’re done. They’ve got little paint brushes and canvases on the pants.”

Grantaire slid his good hand over his face, breath coming fast like he was trying to soothe himself out of a breakdown. “Let’s get it over with then.”

Joly ended up unlocking the chair. Grantaire’s cast had come off, but he still had to wear a brace on his wrist that rendered his right hand mostly useless, and despite repeated confrontations with the charge nurse, Grantaire was still in the too-big wheelchair with the brakes that stuck, so he couldn’t lock and unlock the chair by himself. The charge nurse said it would be different if there was family breathing down their neck to get Grantaire a better chair, but as it was, they didn’t have any other chairs to give him and there was no compulsion to find one.

Joly wheeled Grantaire out the room and down the hall to the shower room, all the while attempting to distract him with gossip about their friends. It worked for a few minutes; Grantaire was genuinely curious about Courfeyrac’s new roommate, though his interest in Enjolras’ latest workers’ rights demonstration was obviously feigned. Then they were in the room and the door was locked behind them.

Joly positioned a walker in front of the wheelchair and helped Grantaire stand. He checked that Grantaire’s weight was distributed properly, then offered him an apologetic smile and placed his hands at the hem of his shirt. “You okay?”

Grantaire chewed his lip, then nodded. “What do you need me to do?”

“Just don’t fall on your ass and we’ll be fine.”

“Right. I think I can manage that. Um…Jol?”

“Yeah?” Joly started easing the long sleeved tee over Grantaire’s torso.

“I’ve got…I’ve got a few scars. I just, shit…just don’t like panic or anything, okay? They’re old.”

Joly’s brow furrowed in concern. “Like, fell off a bicycle scars or had my appendix removed scars or…”

“Just scars.”

But Joly had already removed enough of the shirt to ascertain exactly what kind of scars Grantaire was talking about. There were soft little lines on his belly and a few more by his hips, some slightly darker ones on the inside of his arm, and one jagged one on his wrist. They weren’t all old.

‘Don’t stare,’ Joly thought to himself. Staring would make it worse.

He cast about for something to say to prove that he wasn’t staring at the scars, even though he very much was, and made it worse in a different way entirely. “Damn, R. I didn’t realize you were so built. Why do you hide behind all those baggy hoodies and ugly t-shirts?”

Grantaire’s face colored. “Wow. Sexual harassment is your tension breaker?”

“Shut up.”

It was true though. His arms and his abs were amazing. The kid was a little underweight, and his face always looked haggard and drawn, so Joly expected him to be rail thin and gangly. He was definitely slim, but his skinny arms were muscular and instead of the slight beer belly Joly expected to find he had tight, drool worthy stomach muscles.

Joly was sure his face was bright magenta. He yanked down Grantaire’s sweatpants as quickly as he was able without disrupting the guy’s balance, catching a flash of a few more cutting scars hidden on his thighs. They really were very strategically placed to avoid notice.

He wasn’t going to dwell on that thought.

Grantaire’s grip on the walker tightened. “Can I leave my boxers on?”

“Absolutely. This is uncomfortable enough already. I see no reason to make it worse. Well, unless you really need a good scrub down there.”

“Nope, I’m good.”

“Good.”

“My ass probably is worth checking out though.”

Joly snorted. “So if I compliment you it’s sexual harassment, but if you come on to me…?”

“I’m successfully breaking the tension. The difference is timing, you see. I have comedic timing and you don’t.”

“Ah. Well, thanks for explaining the distinction.”

Somehow Joly managed to get back into CNA mode after that. He turned the water on, checked the temperature, and from thereon out was professional and efficient. In no time at all, he was wheeling Grantaire back to his room in his new pajamas, injured leg elevated and braced, good foot clad in a fuzzy no-slip sock. When they got back to the room, Joly brushed out his hair and then helped him maneuver over to the window. He pulled up a table tray generously laden with books and graphic novels donated by their friends.

“You good?” Joly asked.

“Yeah. That wasn’t nearly as awful as I expected it to be. Jol…thanks. I know I’m not exactly dealing with this shit gracefully, but it’d be a million times worse without you. Sorry for being such a pain in your ass-are you crying?”

“Nope.” His eyes may have watered a little, but he was _not_ crying.

Yet.

“I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me though.”

“Oh god. I’m a douchecanoe.”

Joly laughed, then darted forward and gave Grantaire a hug that was almost as awkward as the shower. Grantaire immediately tensed up, but he also patted his back with the good hand.

After that Joly was busy taking care of the rest of his assignment, then the supper trays came and he got to see Grantaire for about two minutes while he brought him his tray, and then he had to bring the meal cart back down to the kitchen and start putting people to bed, so the day didn’t really hit him until he got enough downtime to start working on his books.

Enjolras found him hiding in the diet kitchen having a mild panic attack.

“Joly, are you okay?”

The encouraging smile might have gone over better if he weren’t hyperventilating. Based on the way Enjolras’ eyes had widened, he probably looked somewhat hysterical. “I’m…I’m o-okay. How are…how are you?”

Enjolras rubbed a soothing circle between Joly’s shoulder blades. “What happened?”

“Oh, you know…just…just the day. It’s no-no big. I’m fine. Really.” He managed to get his breathing under control and make his smile look a little more genuine. “This is an incredibly stressful job.”

“Even when there isn’t a cynical bastard cutting you down for trying to help?” Enjolras asked, an undercurrent of anger in his tone.

Joly’s face fell. “No, no-no-no, it’s not like that. Grantaire’s being fine, really.”

“Everyone said he was being an asshole to you-”

“When he first got here, yes, but that was just him adjusting. It’s normal, I promise. Enjolras, I’m used to being snapped at by my residents, so don’t worry about it and certainly don’t mention anything to R-”

“Christ, Joly, you’re making it sound like he’s abusing you.”

Joly let out a frustrated squeak. “It’s _fine_. Leave it alone. What are you doing in the diet kitchen anyway?”

“Oh, Grantaire asked if I could get him a ginger ale. I think he was just trying to get rid of me though. He didn’t seem very happy to see me.”

Joly opened one of the cabinets to get a Styrofoam cup Enjolras immediately wrinkled his nose at and gave a shrug. “Don’t take it personally. He doesn’t like it when anyone visits. He doesn’t like us seeing him like this.”

“Well maybe he shouldn’t have drunk himself into a stupor and nearly killed himself falling down stairs.”

Jesus, but Enjolras’ direct manner was not what Grantaire and his fragile mental state needed at the moment. Deciding that he was best off supervising this particular visit, especially considering how much weight Grantaire gave Enjolras’ opinion in particular, Joly snuck over to the nurse’s station to grab his books as soon as Enjolras set off with his cup of ginger ale, then all but ran down the hall to Grantaire’s room.

“Hey, guys! Do you mind if I do my books in here? It’s pretty crazy in the dining room.”

Grantaire was visibly relieved. “Shut the door and pull the privacy curtain. There’s a guy on the overnights that hides in here and takes a nap in the spare bed, and he doesn’t work half as hard as you. You should totally use this room to hide from your coworkers and take a nap or something.”

Enjolras looked alarmed. “A strange man comes in here and naps in your room in the middle of the night?”

“He’s not exactly a stranger. His name’s Rick, and sometimes we play cards. He snuck me an extra cigarette during the smoke break this afternoon.”

“Oh, I know Rick,” Joly said. “He picks up a lot of doubles. I still hate it when he hides though. I did two people off his assignment the last time we worked together and he wouldn’t help me with an assist.”

Joly took twice as long doing his books as usual. He and Grantaire filled the conversation with the minutiae of the home, generally keeping Enjolras from getting a word in edgewise. Eventually Joly couldn’t believably linger any longer though. He gave Grantaire’s good shoulder a squeeze, then went to return the binder to the nurse’s station and punch out.

Enjolras remained silently standing by the window, elegant features impossible to read but certainly not pleased. Grantaire was reminded of how he’d felt when he’d fucked up at school and was waiting to be chewed out by his dad. Suddenly, he really appreciated and missed Joly’s much lighter presence.

The minutes stretched by, until finally Grantaire couldn’t take any more of the silent torture. “Will you just say whatever it is you came here to say? I can’t take you looking at me like that.”

To his surprise, Enjolras looked hurt by his outburst. “I’m-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“Well what are you trying to do? Because you standing there staring at me is fucking creepy.”

Enjolras turned around and started pacing, arms still crossed protectively over his chest. “I don’t know. I just knew that I needed to see you. The last time I saw you was when you were being loaded into the ambulance, and you were incoherent and so…so…”

Grantaire scowled. “What, fucked up? Broken? Disappointing?”

“Hurt,” Enjolras snapped. “When we got there you were so still and for a second I’d thought you’d died until you started groaning and swearing. You _scared_ me, Grantaire. Even though you’re as infuriating as ever, it’s nice to see you somewhat back to normal.”

“This is normal, is it?” Grantaire vaguely gestured at the wheelchair.

Enjolras returned his scowl with an impressive glare. “Your mouth is certainly back to normal. You scared the shit out of me. Can you please tell me you’re going to be okay, even if you have to lie? I can’t…I can’t stop worrying about you.”

“You really mean it, don’t you?”

Enjolras huffily crossed the room and sat down on the bed. “Of course I do. You’re…you’re one of my friends. Why are you so surprised I care about you?”

Grantaire tried to shrug his shoulders, thought better of it, and settled for scrubbing a hand through his hair instead. “Dunno. You’re always pretty pissed off at me.”

“Yes, well you do go out of your way to irritate me. But when you’re not being insufferable you’re pretty damn funny. Our meetings have been really boring without you.”

“Have they?”

“Yeah. And I would love to see what you’d make of Marius.”

“He’s the new guy, then? Courf’s roommate?”

Enjolras nodded. “He daydreams worse than Jehan. Seriously, I wonder how this guy makes it through the day. He’s nice though. I’m pretty sure you’d destroy him.”

Grantaire laughed. “Probably. Um…I’m sorry I scared you.”

Enjolras scooched further down the bed, bringing him closer to Grantaire’s wheelchair. “Just don’t do it again and we’ll call it even. How are you doing with physical therapy? Are you making progress?”

“Uh…sure.” In reality he was skipping it as often as he could and being just as stubborn and argumentative with the physical therapists as he was with every other employee of the facility who wasn’t Joly. Which was stupid and self-defeating, not to mention mind-bogglingly immature, but frankly most days he didn’t want to wake up, let alone cooperate with the world.

He’d have been in real trouble without Joly.

Enjolras accepted his unconvincing reassurance at face value and gave him a tight smile. “That’s good. I’m sure they’ll have you walking again in no time. Just make sure you work hard.”

“Yeah…whatever. So, um…how goes the revolution?”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Derailed by final exams. I think we’re just managing to keep Bahorel from flunking out.”

“How many essays did he pay Feuilly to write for him this time?”

“Feuilly doesn’t do that anymore.”

Grantaire let out a loud bark of laughter that got Enjolras glaring again. “Your faith in the goodness of humanity continues to amuse, Enjolras.”

“Your cynicism continues to be tired and grating.”

Just then Joly raced back into the room, though he tried to make his pace look natural at the very last minute. His face was flushed and his smile too strained to be believable. His eyes widened in shock when he saw that Enjolras and Grantaire were getting along. “H-hi.”

Enjolras patted the bed. “Are you off the clock?”

Joly took the invitation and sat down next to him. “Yep. Just a regular visitor now. Musichetta’s on her way to get me. Are you going to be here much longer, Enj?”

Enjolras shrugged. “I should go home and study for philosophy but…” His eyes rested on Grantaire, and his gaze immediately softened. “I’ve been studying all day. Talking to an actual person instead of yelling at a book is a nice change of pace.”

“You’re adorable, Enj.”

“Shut up.”

* * *

That night, after being woken by Joly’s tossing and turning for the third time, Musichetta finally reached over and switched on the lamp on the bedside table, then turned onto her side facing her boyfriend. “Sweetie, I’ve got to be up and coherent for a presentation at seven thirty, so unless you want me to banish your adorable but infuriatingly jittery bum to the couch you have got to settle down and go to sleep. And you know I don’t like being cruel to you when you’re working this much on top of finals.”

Joly blinked at her in confusion. Between his sleepy expression and his tousled bedhead, he was in serious danger of overpowering her with his cute. “Sorry ‘Chetta. I didn’t mean to wake you. I just can’t sleep.”

“I noticed.” She teasingly poked his shoulder. “Do you need to talk?”

“I…I don’t think I should.”

“I’m your girlfriend. Confidentiality’s part of the bargain. It’s Grantaire, isn’t it? Sweetie, I knew being his CNA was a bad idea. Friends should only see so much of their friends’ bowel movements.”

“He’s actually rather self-sufficient when it comes to the toileting, thank you very much. I just have to get him on the seat.” Joly turned so that he was facing the ceiling and let out a deep sigh. “I helped him shower today.”

“Well, I can see how that would be emotionally scarring.”

“Poor choice of words, hon,” Joly whispered. “He cuts. He tried to tell me the scars were old, but not all of them were and there’s one…” He traced a line up his wrist.

The next thing he knew he was wrapped in a protective embrace, head pillowed on Musichetta’s impressive chest. “And let me guess, the stupid fuckstick still won’t agree to see a shrink?”

“We’ve got to talk him into it before they let him go home. He’s going to kill himself. He’s hurting so much, and he insists on doing it alone. He won’t let us help him.”

“Hey…hey, sweetheart.” Musichetta tilted his chin up and planted a light kiss on his lips. “I’m not going to pretend I don’t absolutely love how devoted you are to your friends, but please don’t get overwhelmed by your selflessness. You are an amazing human being and a wonderful friend. You’re going above and beyond. If Grantaire…if he does get worse, it’s not your fault. You cannot take on that guilt, okay? I’m not letting him take you down with him.”

“I want to help him so much, ‘Chetta.”

“And you are. I promise, sweetheart, you’re doing everything you can.” She rubbed his shoulders and gave him another kiss. Joly clung to her for a few minutes, but eventually the embrace turned more relaxed.

Much sooner than she expected, Joly drifted into a much needed slumber. She carded her hands through his hair, a knot of worry settling like a dead weight in the pit of her stomach.

She liked Grantaire, really she did. He was funny and clever and he’d designed three of her tattoos for her. But if any of his crazy and damage spilled over to her Joly, God have mercy on the cynical bastard’s blackened soul.

 


	3. Chapter 3

All of their friends recognized the tension between Enjolras and Grantaire. They saw the way Grantaire pined for Enjolras, obsessed over him, and observed what they believed to be cool disregard or discomfort on Enjolras’ part, depending upon how generous they were willing to be to their romantically disinclined friend. Still, even those who sympathized with Enjolras thought he was being at least a little cruel to his ardent admirer.

What no one but Enjolras and Grantaire realized was that the tension had already erupted, and manifested in two dates.

Enjolras got the ball rolling, though really he was just taking Grantaire up on an offer he’d made dozens of times. It seemed though, that he’d never expected Enjolras to agree to a date and hadn’t the slightest clue what to do with himself when the object of his desire finally consented to accompany him on a night out. Grantaire was flabbergasted for almost a full five minutes.

Enjolras contemplated him with a fond smile. They were sitting opposite each other at a table in the back of the Musain. Their other friends had left, but Enjolras had lingered to work on a blog post they’d discussed during their gathering, and Grantaire had a tendency to linger wherever Enjolras lingered, eventually leaving them alone together. They were sitting very close now, their knees knocking together under the table. Grantaire had been provoking Enjolras on purpose, thinking his advances were unwanted and being viewed as teasing, mocking, cries for attention, which mostly they were. He never expected Enjolras to say yes.

“I’m free on Friday evening, if that works for you. The rest of the weekend’s shot, between the demonstration and a conference paper I’ve got to edit, so if you can’t make Friday we’ll have to wait until next week.”

“Um, no that’s…that’s…yeah. Friday works for me. S’great, actually,” Grantaire managed to choke out. “Um…are you sure about this?”

Enjolras took out his day planner, which was overflowing with post-its, fliers, business cards, and little slips of paper with hasty notes scribbled on them. He crossed something out on the square for Friday and wrote in ‘Date’ in massive red letters. “Of course I’m sure. Why wouldn’t I be? You’ve been flirting with me for ages. I’ve had plenty of time to think it over.”

“And…you really want to go out with me?”

Enjolras looked up from the day planner with a thoughtful frown. “Of course I do. I like you. Wait, this wasn’t a joke, was it? All the flirting? I thought it might be, but everyone’s said that you sincerely like me, despite appearances, so…shit, I’m not making you uncomfortable, am I? We don’t have to do it if you don’t want to.”

“No, I want to. I’m mad about you, really,” Grantaire rushed to say. “I just can’t fathom a situation where even a fraction of that feeling is reciprocated, that’s all. You’re perfection, and I’m a horrible mess.”

“You’re not a mess. You’re quirky. When you’re not being infuriating, you’re even almost charming.” Enjolras wasn’t used to trying to bestow those types of compliments, and was sure he was getting it all wrong. At any rate, Grantaire was still gazing vapidly at him with that dumbstruck expression, so he couldn’t have been doing well. “Um, anyway…if you really do want to do this date-”

“Which I do,” Grantaire insisted.

“Right, then…I’ll pick you up at seven? Is that okay?”

Grantaire finally smiled, though it was uncharacteristically shy. “Sure. I’ll see you then, Enj.”

“Goodnight.” Enjolras hastily shoved his things in his bag and forced himself to walk out of the Musain at a normal pace. When he was in the privacy of his car, he turned on the radio and flipped through the stations until he found the sort of mindless upbeat pop music he never listened to, and he proceeded to car-dance for the entire ride back to his apartment.

Any and all elation quickly gave way to terror. Enjolras had never been on a date before. He’d only been kissed twice; once in eighth grade for a play and once at a party freshman year. The first time had been a girl, and the second time had been Courfeyrac, so neither could be described as exactly romantic. He’d been interested in boys for as long as he could remember, though never with much drive behind it. Grantaire was his first crush, and the feelings had so terrifically blind-sided him that he hadn’t identified them for what they were for several months.

Enjolras was always calm and in control. He didn’t like being in an unfamiliar situation, especially not one where he was this likely to screw up.

Deciding that it was best to let Grantaire take the lead, given the older student’s experience in dating, Enjolras carefully watched Grantaire when they met with their friends Thursday night. He didn’t act any differently, unless you counted the fact that he sat clear on the other end of the café and went to great lengths to avoid making eye contact with Enjolras. At any rate, he didn’t mention their impending date or behave at all romantically, so Enjolras left him alone as well, and was privately glad he hadn’t told any of their friends about the date. Apparently Grantaire didn’t want them to know.

When Enjolras got out of classes on Friday he sent Grantaire a text to check that they were still on for dinner at seven. He stopped by a café on the way home to grab a coffee, and impulsively bought a single long stemmed rose from the florist next door. He regretted the purchase almost immediately. It was sentimental and stupid. Grantaire wouldn’t like it, although he’d probably enjoy having something to mock Enjolras over. With that in mind, he refrained from throwing the flower out, though he still wasn’t set on giving it to his date.

He finished his coffee by the time he got to his apartment, and before he rinsed out the cup and tossed it in the recycling he had an answering text from Grantaire.

‘Not getting cold feet, are you?’

Enjolras smirked, and typed out a reply. ‘Not at all. Looking forward to 7.’ He thought about adding in a winky face, then scrapped it. The rose was bad enough. He wasn’t going to make matters worse with emoticons.

“Grantaire, you’re ruining me,” Enjolras mumbled.

He tried to get a start on homework, but it was a lost cause with how distracted he was. Enjolras showered and carefully dressed for his date, and was ready a full three hours early. He passed the remaining time with some light reading followed by stalking Grantaire on facebook.

He looked so natural and easy in the pictures Joly and Bossuet posted with him. Enjolras frowned, wondering how they brought those kinds of relaxed, unguarded smiles out of the cynic. He was always on edge whenever Enjolras was around, something he hated and felt guilty for in turns.

He spent so long looking at pictures that seven o’clock came and went without Enjolras noticing. He was pulled from his contemplations by the object of said contemplations sending him a forlorn text. Cursing, Enjolras hit the call button as he ran around the apartment, gathering up his boots and coat and keys.

“Hello?” Grantaire’s voice sounded indifferent when he answered.

“Shit, I’m sorry. I lost track of time. I’m on my way now, I swear.”

“Nah, it’s cool. If you changed your mind, you can just-”

“I didn’t change my mind, I just lost track of the fucking time! I’m on my way.”

Perhaps shouting at Grantaire and hanging up on him wasn’t the best start to a date, but Enjolras was nervous. Maybe the rose would help him smooth things over.

Grantaire was waiting on the stoop outside his building when Enjolras pulled up, smoking a cigarette and looking a bit shaky. Enjolras had combed his hair rather carefully and put on a nice collared shirt he usually reserved for conferences. Grantaire, it seemed, was treating this just like any other dinner out with friends and hadn’t worn anything particularly special.

Not that Enjolras didn’t think he looked good in his ripped jeans and thin band t-shirts, rather the opposite (he was aware that Grantaire wasn’t conventionally handsome, but then, there was little of the conventional in any of Enjolras’ tastes so he didn’t really give a fuck), but Grantaire’s appearance gave Enjolras pause. Had he messed up? Should he have worn something casual then?

Grantaire sat on the rose when he got in the car and Enjolras winced. He probably shouldn’t have left it on the seat. “What’s under my butt?” Grantaire asked.

“It’s just something stupid I saw when I was walking home,” Enjolras muttered.

Grantaire reached under him and pulled out the flattened rose. He’d also broken the stem. Enjolras kept his eyes on the road, sure his face had turned magenta. If he’d looked beside him, he’d have seen how touched Grantaire looked, and saddened that he’d ruined the flower.

He finished breaking off the stem, and tucked the rose into the pocket of his jacket. “I guess it’s a good thing this one didn’t have any thorns on it. So where are we going?”

“There’s a Thai place I like just down the road. I was thinking we’d go there, but if you don’t like Thai food then there are other restaurants in the area.”

“Nah, Thai’s fine. So, uh…how was your day?”

The rest of their conversation proved to be just as stilted and uncomfortable. Enjolras tried to take Grantaire’s hand once they were sitting down at their table, but Grantaire snatched it firmly away from him and resolutely stared at the menu instead of his date for as long as he could get away with it. He left to smoke a cigarette outside three times over the course of their meal, and then he left to take a phone call while they were waiting for the bill.

Enjolras gave his credit card to the waiter and regarded the empty chair opposite him, wondering what he was doing wrong. Grantaire returned before he thought of anything, and Enjolras turned to him with a small smile on his face, hoping to mask his disappointment. “I just paid. The waiter should be back with my card in a moment, and then I was thinking we could-”

“You paid?”

Enjolras frowned at him in confusion. “Yes…? Um, this is a date. I’d thought I was supposed to.”

“Yeah, but…well, you shouldn’t have had to pay for all of it.” Grantaire plopped onto the seat and rubbed at his eyes. “I was going to pay.”

“I’m sorry. I just, since I arranged everything I thought I was the one who was going to…look, it wasn’t expensive or anything.”

“No, it’s cool, I just…I didn’t want you to have to pay. Especially since this is turning out to be such a shitty date.”

Enjolras hissed in a quick breath. So it wasn’t just him then. He _was_ failing spectacularly at the date. “It’s still early. We could turn things around.”

“I don’t think that’s going to happen, Enj. Look, when your card comes back, can you just drop me off at my place?”

Feeling more heartbroken than he wanted to admit, Enjolras agreed.

They fell into a tense silence after that. Grantaire sat stiffly in the passenger seat, tapping his hands anxiously against his knees for the duration of the trip to his building. He started to open his door even before Enjolras parked the car, and would have run straight to his apartment if Enjolras hadn’t caught up to him and grabbed his arm.

“R, wait. I know…I know this didn’t turn out very well, but I did try my best.” Which was all kinds of sad.

Grantaire dropped his gaze and gave a stiff nod. He gently patted the jacket pocket, where unbeknownst to Enjolras the crushed rose still sat. “Yeah.”

“Can I kiss you goodnight?” Enjolras asked.

Grantaire’s head shot up. He stared at Enjolras incredulously. “You want to?”

Not trusting himself to answer, Enjolras nodded. He nervously licked his dry lips, sure this was going to be different from that time in eighth grade, or the teasing kiss Courfeyrac had stolen from him freshman year.

Grantaire was the one to initiate the kiss. It was slow and wonderful and surprisingly gentle. He cupped Enjolras’ face in his rough hands and caught his lower lip between his own. Enjolras’ eyes slid shut, and before he knew what he was doing he was clinging to Grantaire’s biceps and making the most ridiculous little ‘mm’ing sound.

His face felt incredibly flushed when Grantaire broke the kiss. Dazed, Enjolras opened his eyes and huffed out a laugh at his own ridiculousness. “Goodnight, R.”

“Night, Enj. See you at the demonstration, right?”

Enjolras nodded. Still feeling dazed and dreamy, he headed back to his apartment, pensive but overall pleased with the date. So maybe most of it had sucked, but that kiss more than made up for it.

Meanwhile, Grantaire headed upstairs to drink himself in a stupor and puzzle over what the hell the stupid rose might mean. At some point during the night he must have turned weepy and angry, because he woke with tear tracks on his face and torn up flower petal gunk under his fingernails. What was left of the rose littered the floor of his bedroom, along with an empty bottle of vodka and two crushed beer cans.

He felt like absolute shit. There had been far too much left in that vodka bottle when he’d started for it to be empty now. Then he noticed that it was still dark out. Well. That was weird. He wasn’t tired enough for it to still be that early.

Then he noticed the time, and realized he’d slept _through_ the day and into the night. Which meant he’d missed Enjolras’ demonstration and the speech he was supposed to give.

“Shit-shit- _shit­!_ ” Forgetting his hangover aftercare entirely, Grantaire stumbled through the apartment, tripping over things and leaning heavily on the wall while groping around for his phone. He stepped on the vodka bottle and swore loudly as shards of glass penetrated his bare foot.

Grantaire fell against his floorboards clutching at his knee and breathing heavily as blood spurted from the sole of his foot. “For fuck’s sake!”

He crawled over to the bathroom, switched on the light despite the pain it shot through his skull, and tweezed the bits of glass out of his foot. He did a sloppy job washing and disinfecting the cuts, and an even worse job wrapping gauze around it, but he could always have Joly fix that later. In the meantime, he really needed to find his fucking phone.

Then he noticed that it was still in his pocket. “Fucking brilliant, you shit head,” Grantaire muttered. He flipped the phone open and noted that he had about a dozen new text messages. He had one apiece from Courfeyrac, Joly, and Bahorel, and all the rest were Enjolras. Grantaire read through them, feeling increasingly more sick and stupid and guilty as he got through the confused string of texts. It began with ‘Are you running late?’ and ended with ‘Does this mean you don’t want to see me again?’

He wasn’t sure how to answer them, any of them. Not when his head was pounding and his mouth was dry and he had freely bleeding cuts on the sole of his foot.

Grantaire limped to the kitchen, snagged a bottle of whiskey, and then collapsed on the couch in front of the television. He’d think of something to say to Enjolras later. In the meantime, he had nerves that needed steadying.

* * *

Monday night found Enjolras dancing back and forth in front of the automatic doors to the arts and craft store in the local mall long enough to collect snowflakes in his golden tresses. He talked himself out of going in at least half a dozen times, and if he hadn’t already purchased his apology coffee he probably would have succeeded in convincing himself to march into the parking lot, lock himself in the car, and drive back to his apartment and his mountain of homework and passion projects where he belonged. Grantaire had made his feelings pretty clear, after all, by following up their date with resolute silence and avoidance. Besides that, it was just rude to accost someone with personal issues when they were trapped at work.

But he couldn’t just let this thing between him and Grantaire fizzle out, especially since it seemed like it was going to take their friendship with it. And he’d already purchased the coffees…

Enjolras strode inside, clutching the tray between his gloved hands and telling himself he was just as unshakably confident as ever. Certainly not dreading yet craving the sight of a careless and crass art student.

He scanned the well-lit aisles of the store, looking for a mop of unruly raven hair, but saw no sign of his cynic. Next he scanned the checkouts, though if he remembered correctly the managers didn’t usually have Grantaire ring. Being an art major, Grantaire’s knowledge made him better suited to stocking shelves and answering questions on the floor. Besides that, his customer service skills were a bit lacking.

As expected, Grantaire was not parked behind a register being verbally abused over a return policy he hadn’t set. Maybe Enjolras had gotten it wrong and he didn’t work Mondays.

Then Grantaire walked out a set of double doors that must have went to a storage area. He was carrying a large cardboard box, and his hands and work shirt were coated in dust and little bits of tape. He had a box cutter sticking out the back pocket of his jeans.

Enjolras just stared for a moment, taking in the scruffy, messy look of a worker. He himself had been raised among neatly pressed clothes and well groomed hair that never went out of place, even by a strand. People who labored with their hands initially fascinated Enjolras just by virtue of their foreignness. Then one summer he’d picked Grantaire and Feuilly up from a day job they’d gotten as landscapers, and he realized he was a little turned on by dirty hands and sweaty brows.

Not that he was ever going to admit that part out loud.

Grantaire froze, gaping at Enjolras with wide blue eyes, and definitely not pleased to see him. Enjolras gave himself a small shake and carefully approached his…whatever they were.

“Hey. I’m sorry to-to corner you at work. I brought you a coffee, if that helps. Um…” He held out the tray, a little awkwardly as Grantaire certainly couldn’t accept a coffee when he was carrying such a massive box.

What had he been planning on saying again? God Grantaire’s biceps looked good peeking out of the shirt sleeves. The box looked heavy. Enjolras had had no idea the other guy was built like that. Shit, standing there with the box couldn’t have been comfortable. “Did you need to put that down?”

“Oil paints. This way.” Grantaire grunted, before setting off for one of the seldom visited aisles in the back of the store. The customer base leaned decidedly more towards crafters than artists, but with two art schools in the neighboring towns the store did an okay business on fine art supplies. Certainly good enough business to justify Grantaire’s employment, especially in the fall.

He set the box down beside a pile of empty ones and opened it with the box cutter in a smooth and practiced looking movement. Ignoring Enjolras entirely, he set to work opening smaller boxes of little white tubes, pricing them with a gun he’d left on a nearby shelf, and stocking them on wire racks hanging just above a basket of sponge brushes.

Enjolras watched him work, thoroughly distracted by Grantaire’s strong looking hands. Finally, he broke himself out of his daze.

“Grantaire, can I talk to you?”

“I’ve got a break in twenty minutes. I want to get this box done before that.”

“Okay.” Enjolras swallowed around a suddenly dry throat. He set the coffees on a nearby shelf and tried not to fidget with his gloves. “Can I talk while you work?”

“No offense Enj, but I’d rather you didn’t. You’re kind of a distraction.”

He seemed to be working well enough, but Enjolras didn’t want to push him either. “Can we talk on your break then?”

Grantaire tossed the pricing gun into a box of cobalt blue oil paints, wiped his brow with the back of his hand, and turned to face Enjolras. He looked troubled. It made Enjolras want to smooth the messy hair down with a gentle caress and kiss his chapped lips until he smiled, like they had after the date. Knowing Grantaire though, this time he wouldn’t smile. Enjolras had no idea how to fix the mess he’d made.

“Why do you still want to bother with me? I was horrible to you the other night.”

“You were nervous,” Enjolras said, though for the first time he was starting to have doubts about that. He’d thought Grantaire had seemed nervous, anyway. “I was nervous too,” he continued, “but it manifested differently from you. It was a first date. I’ve heard those can be awkward.”

Enjolras had meant to calm Grantaire, but his words didn’t seem to have that effect. “That wasn’t you first date _ever_ , was it?”

Enjolras turned away, embarrassed. His inexperience had never really bothered him before, but in the face of dating someone like Grantaire, who’d professed to be such an expert at this sort of thing, he felt painfully naïve and a touch inadequate. “It was,” Enjolras admitted, voice near a whisper. “So whatever I did wrong, it wasn’t malicious or anything like that. I legitimately have no idea what I’m doing. I know the rose must have been stupid, forgive me for that. I’m completely ignorant when it comes to romance. If you’d be willing to give me a second shot, I’ll endeavor to do better.”

“What? Enjolras, you were fine.”

Enjolras turned to stare at him, searching Grantaire’s befuddled gaze for a hint of mockery and finding none. “Then why were you so uncomfortable with me? And, and you insisted on going home right after dinner. Didn’t I mess up somewhere and offend you?”

Grantaire shook his head. “No, you didn’t do anything wrong. You were perfect and it made me panic. I wanted to get home so you wouldn’t see me have an anxious breakdown. I guess that was kind of dumb.”

Enjolras snatched Grantaire’s hand, squeezing the rough, calloused skin between both his gloved hands. “You could have told me you were feeling anxious. It was more than first date jitters, wasn’t it?”

Slowly, Grantaire nodded. His gaze dropped and he looked away, though he kept his hand clasped in Enjolras’. “I didn’t want…I mean, I just really want this to work-”

“That’s something we agree on,” Enjolras interrupted, wishing Grantaire would look at him. “I like you so much. I’ve never done anything like this before because I’ve never wanted to. I’ve never wanted to be with anyone but you. Will you please give me another chance? We can do whatever you’d like for the second date. We should go somewhere you’d be comfortable, or we could just stay in at one of our apartments. Please just give me another chance.”

Grantaire was silent for an agonizing few minutes. Enjolras gripped his hand so tightly that he probably couldn’t have shaken him off even if he’d wanted to. Or, Enjolras hoped he didn’t want to.

Finally, still not looking directly at Enjolras, Grantaire spoke. “You deserve so much more than I can give you.”

“Let me be the judge of that.”

“No, Enj, you don’t get it.” Grantaire did pull away then, in a movement so violent and unexpected that Enjolras dropped his hand without thought. He stalked a few paces away and hugged his arms, curling in on himself. “I am seriously screwed up, okay, fundamentally flawed. A few hugs and kissed aren’t going to fix it, and you shouldn’t have to deal with my shit. That date was a mistake. I shouldn’t have given in.”

“Grantaire, I…”

“I need to get back to work. You should go.”

Enjolras closed his rapidly welling eyes and tried to take a deep breath. It didn’t work. He started to walk away, then turned around and marched back over to Grantaire. “I’m not giving up on you. We’ll talk again later.”

“Enjolras, you can’t force me to date you.”

“No, but I can be persuasive. I’m more persistent than you are by quite a lot, and I’m not going away.”

* * *

Enjolras’ persistence paid off with one more date, but ultimately Grantaire’s anxiety and shitty self-esteem were more stubborn than the fiery student.

Their second date was everything the first should have been. They stayed at Enjolras’ apartment, ordered a pizza, and watched the better part of a season of Community. Enjolras had never seen it before, but it was one of Grantaire’s favorite shows, and he delighted in hunting down episodes he was sure Enjolras would like.

This time they were both wearing scrubby clothes; Grantaire a different pair of ripped jeans and a different threadbare band shirt, Enjolras a pair of low riding university sweatpants and a Sochi Olympics boycott shirt. Eventually they migrated off the couch and onto a pile of blankets on the floor. Enjolras rested with his head on Grantaire’s chest, the artist’s warm hand slipping under his t-shirt to lazily rub up and down his side. They traded dozens of kisses throughout the night, so many that Enjolras was sure he’d get used to it at some point, and that his insides would stop squirming and his brain would stop melting to mush at some point, but no, apparently there was no building up a resistance to Grantaire and his kisses.

They traded their longest when Grantaire finally left, sometime around two in the morning. Enjolras made a small sound of loss when Grantaire let him go, but he was smiling like an idiot all the same. “We are definitely doing this again.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” Enjolras insisted. “Every day, I think. Maybe not the pizza part, but definitely the TV and the…the kissing. I’ve never felt so relaxed before. Clearly, this is something I need to work into my routine.”

Grantaire laughed at the teasing, apparently surprised by the sincerity that went with it. “This was definitely nice but…don’t you think you’d get sick of me if I was part of the routine?”

“No,” Enjolras said, without a beat of hesitation. Then he squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to groan, as that was far too serious a response for what he took to be a lightly asked question. “That is I…I really like spending time with you. Can we do this again soon at least?”

“Sure. I think I’d like that.” Grantaire leaned forward to press a chaste kiss to his temple, then looking a bit self-conscious, he gave an awkward wave and disappeared down the stairs.

The next morning he did his best to break Enjolras’ heart with a series of increasingly hard hearted texts. Enjolras tried to argue with them, but Grantaire wasn’t actually acknowledging anything he texted in response. Enjolras tried calling him, but he wouldn’t pick up, and of course he wouldn’t answer the door when Enjolras tried to tallk to him in person.

For the next week, the only thing Enjolras got from him was one repeated text message. ‘I’m never going out with you again.’ Grantaire skipped all their meetings, and then their friends started approaching Enjolras, asking what they’d fought about.

“Huh?”

“He said he needed space from you or something,” Courfeyrac explained. “Was it bad? You didn’t give him crap about the eco conference in Maine again, did you? He didn’t lose that much of the cash we raised for the solar panels at the card game, and he paid it all back eventually.”

Enjolras gave his head a little shake. He’d mostly forgotten about that one. “No, it wasn’t…look, it’s between us. The next time you see him, can you tell him I really need to talk to him, preferably in person instead of by text?”

“Sure. But y’know, texts are probably better for him. He gets all anxious.”

Enjolras couldn’t help but glare at his friend. “Oh believe me, I’m very well aware of Grantaire’s anxieties.”

“Well, you don’t always act like it.”

In the force of overwhelming panic and anxiety, the only way for Enjolras to see Grantaire again was to agree to see him as friends. They had to pretend their dates had never happened, and then they fell into a mockery of the old pattern of their sexually charged friendship. Grantaire went back to goading him and mocking his activist pursuits, and Enjolras went back to coldly disdaining his cynicism. Meanwhile, both of the young men pined for the other, Grantaire with an air of dejected hopelessness, and Enjolras with a bitterness that turned cold.

Neither of them told their friends about the failed dates, with the result that by the time Grantaire was hospitalized the group generally thought Grantaire needed to be shielded from Enjolras, lest the cold hearted idealist inadvertently heap some more emotional damage on the poor depressed alcoholic suffering an unrequited love.

In actuality, Enjolras was suffering plenty of emotional damage of his own and his façade of strength was rapidly crumbling under the weight of worry and guilt.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kudos and comments, everyone. It's always nice to know my scribbles are being read. I want to apologize in advance for the change in my writing style. I started rereading Little Women on Christmas, and Alcott always affects my writing. I figured I'd just embrace the change rather than fight with it, and chose to shine the spotlight on Jehan a little, as he seems like an appropriate recipient of sentimental turns of phrase.

Grantaire was set to leave the nursing home Thursday night, after enduring an absolutely miserable and thoroughly uncooperative two months of rehab. The Tuesday night before, his friends crowded into Courfeyrac’s apartment to make a game plan. As this was quite a personal personal-matter, as far as those things went, they’d opted for their Center’s abode instead of one of their usual haunts.

Marius, Courfeyrac’s new roommate, hovered in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen, looking uncertain. He still hadn’t actually met Grantaire, but had heard a great deal about him over the past couple of months. He was anxious to help, but also wary of overstepping his bounds with his new peer group. Normally, Courfeyrac would have picked up on this unease and taken some step or other to assuage Marius’ fears and bring him more fully into the discussion. This wasn’t exactly a normal day for the guy though, so he was easily forgiven for forgetting his newest friend.

Enjolras was also hanging back from the rest of the group a bit, though for reasons greatly different from Marius’. He stood behind the couch with his arms folded across his chest, an unchanging and unintentionally hard expression set in his elegant features. He was quiet for much of the discussion, listening rather than leading.

In a spectacular violation of HIPAA, Joly told the group everything he knew about Grantaire’s status. “He’s got a limp in his left leg. Because of the hip injury, we don’t think that one’s ever going to go away entirely. His wrist gets a bit sore from time to time, so we’re going to have to be on him to use the wrist brace, but otherwise he’s pretty much fine…physically.”

“Yes, well, no offense Joly, but that’s not really what we’re concerned with,” Combeferre said. His voice was its usual quiet, soothing tone and a balm for more than one of the friends’ nerves considering the conversation topic. None of them had any illusions about the extent of Grantaire’s problems anymore. “Has anyone taken any steps regarding his alcoholism?”

“He’s refused absolutely everything, and sadly that’s his right,” Joly said with a frown. “He won’t attend any groups for substance issues, he threw a walker at me when I tried to give him an AA pamphlet, and he won’t see a therapist or even admit he’s got depression and anxiety.”

“Are you kidding?” Bahorel gave an incredulous bark of laughter. “Of course he’s got depression. Everybody can tell, can’t they?”

“He won’t talk about it,” Joly said. “He got very combative every time we tried to bring it up to him, so everyone just dropped it.”

“As any expert caregiver would,” Feuilly said, scowling deeply.

Joly looked wounded. “Hey, I’ve been trying my hardest and so have most of my coworkers. They really went out of their way for him when they realized how close I was to him. There’s only so much we can do, guys. He’s within rights to refuse this stuff. We can’t force it on him.”

“But he’s trying to kill himself!”

“In an indirect enough sort of way that he can’t be involuntarily committed to an institution specializing in psyche issues,” Joly explained, voice tight and hands balled into shaking fists.

“Right, so it’s the job of his concerned family and friends to support him. And as he doesn’t have any biological family who gives a shit about him, he’s got us instead,” Bossuet jumped in. He placed a calming hand on Joly's back, and the comforting touch looked to be working. “So what are we going to do? What’s our plan?”

“First and foremost, he’s not allowed to live alone when he gets out,” Courfeyrac said. “Alcoholism and troubled mental state aside, the kid’s got a limp and he lives in a tenement with three flights of stairs. We can talk him down with that.”

“Who can take him in though?” Joly asked. “’Chetta and I would be good candidates, but we’ve got two flights of stairs to our place as well, so the argument won’t sound terribly convincing.”

“Plus he doesn’t need CNA assistance anymore,” Bossuet reminded him. “I’m in very real danger of being evicted, so I can’t offer my place.”

Enjolras felt that his apartment would be ideal, considering he was on the first floor, it was rather roomy, and he had a spare room that was only used by his mother when she came for visits. However, it had the one rather significant detraction in that _he_ lived in the apartment, and Grantaire would probably rather limp his way up ten flights of stairs than live with Enjolras.

The friends continued discussing the merits and issues with their various residences, considered the stormy temper of their convalescing artist, and ultimately decided to sic Prouvaire on him. Jehan lived in a sensible little apartment by the train station. It would be easy enough for Grantaire to catch the shuttle to their college, saving him a walk he likely wouldn’t want to make with his sore limbs without hurting his pride. And besides that, the quiet poet had a calming effect on his temperamental opposite that would be good for him while he was recovering. Jehan didn’t have as much space to offer Grantaire as Enjolras might have, but the space he offered would be infinitely more pleasant and certainly less tense.

“Assuming we can get R to consent to this plan,” Combeferre said, expressing some of the doubt Enjolras privately felt, “how long do you think we can get away with it and how long will he need?”

“I don’t like the idea of him living alone ever again,” Joly started, but was interrupted by Feuilly.

“Oh come on, that’s not realistic. He’s a social guy, but he’s also a solitary one. Especially when he gets in one of his moods. Besides, we can’t babysit him forever. One of us is going to have to talk him into seeing a psychiatrist. He really does need that kind of help.”

“We need to be gentle about it though,” Prouvaire said, soft voice barely more than a murmur when he spoke. “Proud’s not exactly the right word for him, but it’s somewhere in the vicinity. I’ll do what I can for him with any suggestions that seem helpful to make, but our cynic isn’t stupid. He’s already heard everything we could tell him, and he’s chosen not to act on it, though I do think that’s another part of his illness.”

“I think you’re giving him too much credit.” It was the first thing Enjolras had said since they’d traded empty pleasantries upon arriving. His friends turned to stare at him, varying shades of disapproval on their faces. “What I mean to say is, Grantaire’s too erratic to proscribe that much thought to his actions. Yes, he’s intelligent, and yes he’s heard people tell him he ought to quit drinking and talk to a counselor, but his behavior is more emotional than logical. Just because he’s considered something doesn’t mean he’ll act on it. And isn’t his irrationality a part of the mental illness we’re ascribing to him?”

“So what, we’re not supposed to try?” Bahorel snapped.

“That’s not what I said-”

“Well what are you saying then? I haven’t heard any suggestions from you tonight, which might be a friggin’ first.”

Enjolras pressed his lips together, and before he collected himself enough to challenge Bahorel’s careless jab, Combeferre jumped in. “Attacking each other isn’t going to accomplish anything. Besides, Bahorel, Enjolras isn’t wrong. We all believe that Grantaire’s sick, don’t we?” He paused, and looked significantly around the room. Those who didn’t nod at least didn’t challenge him on it. “And his illness is at least partially characterized by erratic behavior, plus a proclivity to self-harm. It would be a bit stupid to expect him to just take our help.”

“He wants to self-destruct,” Courfeyrac said. “I’m not planning on letting him, mind you, but…urgh. This is going to be a shit show, isn’t it?”

After a bit more discussion they agreed to send Courfeyrac in with Joly and Jehan when they pitched the new living arrangement to Grantaire. He was the most polite to Jehan, since it just seemed wrong to treat the gentle young man in any other manner, and he was close with his good natured CNA. He was close with Courfeyrac too, as was everyone else, a feeling of intimacy being one of Courfeyrac’s defining traits, and besides that Courfeyrac could handle Grantaire’s moods without shutting him down, a talent the others couldn’t boast.

Enjolras rather wanted to be there, but he understood why he wasn’t chosen and refrained from volunteering himself. He left the apartment before anyone else, heart heavy and still stinging from Bahorel’s words and the general distrust his friends expressed towards him when it came to Grantaire. It was obvious they wanted him on the periphery of the operation, and he had a feeling he wouldn’t have been invited to the planning session at all if they’d been any less tight-knit a group.

It took him a few minutes to notice he was being followed. He realized someone was behind him just before he felt the timid tap to his shoulder. Abandoning the weary mien he’d worn when he thought he was in private, Enjolras turned away from his car and turned to regard whoever it was with his practiced façade of indifference.

Of course it was Prouvaire.

“Yes?”

Jehan was wearing a timid little frown and shuffling from foot to foot with jittery energy. “Enjolras, are you alright? You seem troubled, more so than I expected and more so than anyone save Joly.”

“I’ll be fine,” Enjolras assured him, believing it as he said it. He had work he could get himself lost in to distract from the ache Grantaire had become in his psyche.

“I just wanted to offer you a sympathetic ear, if you needed one. You’ve been quiet, and as Grantaire means so much to you, well, I just figured you might want someone to talk to.”

Enjolras’ façade immediately gave way in light of the surprise he felt at Jehan’s statement. “What makes you think that Grantaire, that is-”

“Come now, dear, I’m not blind,” Jehan said, briefly changing his frown for an amused smirk.

Enjolras hesitated for a fraction of a second, then unlocked his car and opened the passenger door for Jehan. He accepted the silent invitation, and remained pleasingly quiet while Enjolras drove aimlessly and collected his thoughts.

“I think I love him,” Enjolras said, abruptly breaking the silence.

“I’m almost sure of it,” Jehan said with a nod. “And he loves you, though he won’t let himself feel any of the good that comes from it. He thinks he only deserves the pain and the pining of an unrequited sort of thing. You threw him by reciprocating, I think.”

“That’s certainly true.” Enjolras looked at him slyly out of the corner of his eye. “Did he tell you about the dates?”

“Of course not. I just know how to hear the things people don’t say. You behaved differently when the possibility was open, and then even more so when you settled on this tense farce of friendship. It’s pained me to see you both suffering for each other when you shouldn’t have to, but I wasn’t sure it was my place to get involved. You didn’t seem like the type to need a shoulder to cry on, so I kept my observations to myself.”

Enjolras wasn’t sure what he would have done if Jehan had made such an offer. It wouldn’t have been received well, in any case. “That was probably for the best. I’m glad you approached me tonight though. It’s…It seems like the others think I’m some kind of monster out to hurt him. Thank you for thinking better of me.”

“They’re just worried about him, Enjolras. No one thinks you’re a monster, not really. Their concern takes a funny turn when they feel this helpless.”

“I can sympathize with that,” Enjolras said with a nod. He breathed a quiet sigh and slipped into silence again.

“We aren’t helpless though.” Jehan’s voice carried a quiet conviction Enjolras desperately wished he could share. “Grantaire doesn’t quite fit in with the rest of us and he never has. The cynic sticks out like a sore thumb among the starry eyed idealists, and yet, he chose us and always returns. We bring out the best in him, and he craves that. If we express our concern and love for him just right, we can nurture what’s good and strong in him and eventually he’ll take the help he needs. I’m sure of it.”

“I wish I was as sure.”

“That’s just the fear speaking, Enjolras. You probably don’t recognize it because you so seldom let yourself feel it. But he wouldn’t love you as he does if he didn’t want to be better. I have hope for Grantaire, and I refuse to let my worry overshadow it. He’ll be alright, in the end.” He said it with such firm, simple faith that Enjolras felt himself momentarily soothed. He lost himself in a brief fantasy of what it would be like to see Grantaire healthy, happy, and willing to accept Enjolras’ feelings.

It was a very brief fantasy. Really, it was something he could barely picture.

“If you do talk him into staying with you…”

“Come over as often as you wish. I won’t mind his temper tantrums, and I’m not foolish enough to think that your bluntness overshadows the good you do him.”

Oh, but it was nice to hear someone say he was actually good for Grantaire. “Thank you, Jehan.”

“You’re very welcome, dear.”

Enjolras drove him home after that, though not before Jehan got a promise out of him to meet for a pre-class tea the next morning.

He had a restless sleep that night, worries for Grantaire spilling into his dreams and making the sleep more tiring than the rest it was meant to be. Any time his emotions started getting the better of him, Enjolras repeated Jehan’s hopeful words as a sort of talisman against his fears.

If Jean Prouvaire thought he was good for Grantaire, there was still reason to hope.

* * *

Grantaire agreed to move in with Jehan with very little fight. Unbeknownst to his friends, he was unemployed and essentially homeless when he got out of the nursing home, so their plotting had saved him a lot of trouble.

His job at the craft store was just too physically demanding for him. They’d probably have offered to put him on light duty, but that meant cashiering and customer service, and he’d rather quit. He’d find something else, eventually. In the meantime, he didn’t mind getting on his feet with Jehan. The guy was practically a saint; quiet, helpful, and never judgmental or naggy. He seemed to know exactly what to say to actually make Grantaire feel better, instead of reminding him of what a mess he was.

So Thursday night Grantaire left the nursing home with Jehan and Joly and took up a post on the miraculously comfy old sofa in the main room of Jehan’s tiny apartment. Jehan offered him the bed, which was in a little nook off the main room that was probably supposed to be a pantry or storage space or something, but was almost a room with the cloth shower liner hanging in the archway. Grantaire refused the bed, not out of any sense of selflessness or gratitude towards Jehan, but because the couch really was the comfiest piece of furniture he’d ever sat on, and he wasn’t going to give it up for anything.

Bahorel, Feuilly, and Combeferre were just finishing bringing in the last of the things Grantaire could fit in Jehan’s apartment. He had a cheap little dresser they’d crammed into the living room, with Grantaire’s TV resting on top of it since Jehan didn’t own one. Grantaire wasn’t big on clothing, so his entire wardrobe plus his winter coat and the two pairs of sneakers and one pair of work boots he had fit in the dresser. He’d singled out some art supplies and books that he wanted, which were neatly piled onto a shelf Jehan set aside for him in one of his bookcases, and the rest of his things went into storage at Joly and Musichetta’s. All that was left to do was break his lease, a confrontation he wasn’t exactly looking forward to, but an ordeal that might be smoothed over by offering Bossuet as a new tenant. His landlord wasn’t terribly fussy, and one college kid was probably just as good as any other to him, as long as the rent came in on time.

His friends had taken care of just about everything for him, but Grantaire still had a few things he’d brought with him from the nursing home that he had to unpack. He crammed his clothes into his dresser, hobbled over to the bathroom to put away the few toiletries he possessed, and then looked around the apartment for a good place to rest his cane. The place was neat, tidy, and obviously well-loved by its sentimental occupant, but it was also rather cluttered with knick knacks and nice little odds and ends.

There really wasn’t much room for him. Grantaire already felt like a blemish in the haven Jehan had created for himself. Jehan and Grantaire didn't outwardly appear to have all that much in common, but they'd sensed a sort of kinship in the other, not only for their artistic leanings but also for their shared anxieties. Jehan's shyness had some of the same flavor as Grantaire's anxiety, though he seemed to be dealing with it far better than Grantaire was. When he got overwhelmed, Jehan hid from the world in his quiet home until he could face things with quiet dignity once more. Grantaire knew that, and understood that he was being offered far more than a bed on Jehan's sofa when he'd come into Prouvaire's private sanctuary. 

Then Jehan gently took the cane from Grantaire and put it in a wicker hamper he kept by the door. It had three old fashioned umbrellas in it, a dainty parasol, and an antique cane and walking stick of his own. “If you ever want to borrow this one,” Jehan said, holding up his cane, which was undoubtedly more handsome, “feel free. Those hospital canes are pretty drab. I think this one would fit you better.”

Grantaire tried it out. “Thanks, dude, but this one’s not meant to be functional. The bottom’s too slippery. I’m better off with the ugly cane.”

Jehan studied the bottom of the metal and plastic monstrosity Grantaire had gotten at the home, then inspected his wooden one. “Hm. I’ll keep an eye out for a handsome and functional one the next time I’m thrifting.”

“You really don’t need to bother.”

“It’s no bother. Come on Grantaire, you must know how much I enjoy browsing through odd little stores. Now sit on the sofa and have a rest. I was going to make some tea. Would you like any? I’ve also got peppermint hot chocolate. Or coffee, of course, though it’s probably a bit late in the day for that.”

Grantaire glanced at the mantle clock perched on one of the bookcases and frowned. “It’s eight o’clock.”

“I stop drinking coffee at five, or I won’t be able to sleep. I’ll be having naturally caffeine free chamomile tea.”

“How exciting. I think I’ll be fine without the warm beverage. Thanks though. That’s…cozy, I guess.”

The first night with Jehan was undoubtedly pleasant, though it was tinged with bizarreness for Grantaire, who rarely felt peaceful and was apparently out of practice with the feeling. Jehan sipped his tea, read and scribbled at his poetry, and attended to his guest’s comfort as best he could. At Jehan’s insistence, Grantaire remained on the sofa bundled in warm, sweet smelling blankets (he’d later discover that Jehan used fabric softener and that it actually did make a difference), craving a drink but not wanting to violate the sanctity of Jehan’s safe little nest with his vices. When he’d first been forced into the nursing home, he’d planned on spending his first night of freedom in a state of spectacular inebriation, but with innocent, shy little Jehan for company that just seemed wrong.

His friends really couldn’t have selected a better minder for him than the gentle poet. Damn them.

So Grantaire read his books and sketched instead. Jehan peeked over his shoulder and praised his sketches, which irritated Grantaire more than anything because he knew they were shit, and Jehan should too. The kid had an eye for beauty and a working knowledge of art. Grantaire appreciated the truth much more than hollow compliments designed to make him feel better.

He tried to fix up one of the horrid messes he’d made, but his wrist was throbbing no matter what angle he held the pencil at. “Dammit.” Grantaire tossed the pad aside and cradled his sore wrist. “Did you see where I put that shit sucking brace?”

Jehan unfolded his graceful limbs and puttered around the room, lifting papers and sweaters and other odd ends until he found the wrist brace hiding with a stack of books. “Here you are. Do you want an ice pack or anything?”

“No. I just have to keep this fucking thing on until the pain goes.” He let out a hiss as he tightened it around his wrist, and continued cradling it even after it was covered with the stiff material. “Fuck. I wish I could draw.”

“You were drawing for nearly an hour before you needed the brace, and I rather like the sketch you made of the beckoning cat.”

He’d been drawing the trinkets he found around the room, but he couldn’t get the lines to curve right. Everything looked too stiff and stilted. “It came out like shit. You can have it if you want, otherwise I’m going to toss it.” He ripped the drawing out of the book and passed it over to Jehan, who carefully smoothed the creases out of the paper as though it were something special.

“Thank you, R. I’m going to hang it in my room. Perhaps it will grow on you the next time you look at it. That happens with me and my poetry sometimes. Anyway, I think it’s charming. Would you like me to write you a poem, in exchange?”

“Knock yourself out.”

Jehan puttered around for a little while longer after that. He checked in with his guest regularly, politely, and respectfully, but he somehow never gave Grantaire the sense that he was being pried at or hovered over. If he wanted to, he could have opened up and spilled all his worries and fears to his cheerful minder, but he definitely didn’t want to, and that seemed to be okay as well.

Jehan turned in at ten thirty, which explained his caffeine rule. All he asked of Grantaire was that he keep the overhead light off and that if he wanted to watch anything, could he please do so with the laptop and a pair of headphones, since Jehan had to be up to catch the shuttle to school at six.

Grantaire tried sketching again, but only managed to frustrate himself and hurt his wrist more. He wound up sitting in the bathroom alternating the brace and an icepack until the throbbing dulled to the point where he could wear just the brace.

The apartment didn’t seem quite the restful haven it had earlier, not when Jehan was sleeping behind his sad little curtain liner instead of bustling around making everything pleasant. Grantaire felt lonely, sitting in the dark. The knick knacks that had seemed so comforting and _Jehan_ in the light looked creepy and unsettling when half illumined by a small desk lamp. He felt like he was in the setting of a low budget horror movie.

Grantaire peeked in on Jehan, thought about waking him up, but decided against it. The kid cared about his grades and probably needed a night of unbroken sleep before trudging out to his classes. Grantaire didn’t want to spoil that for him with his stupid issues, not when Jehan was already going out of his way so much already.

Instead he dug his coat out of the dresser, slipped his shoes on, carefully got the cane out of the wicker hamper without making too much noise, and hobbled out to the liquor store up the street. Even two months in a nursing home hadn’t gotten Grantaire in the habit of turning in early, but he knew one way to get his restless mind to shut the fuck up and go to sleep. And even if he didn’t pass out, his thoughts would certainly turn more manageable under the influence of intoxication.

He left his phone somewhere in the nest of sweet smelling blankets on the sofa, and so missed the few friendly texts Enjolras sent him. He didn’t see them until the next morning, when he was nursing his hangover in Jehan’s bathroom and hoping like hell he hadn’t seen the bottles Grantaire stashed in the back of the kitchen cabinets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who don't know, HIPAA stands for Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act. It basically means we're not allowed to gossip about our patients and that we have to be careful about who we share their information with and where we are when we share said information. So no chatting about how the residents are doing by the nurses' station, where anyone can overhear us. More info here: http://www.hhs.gov/ocr/privacy/hipaa/understanding/summary/


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire does his best to push Enjolras away entirely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here there be angst. I may have laid it on a bit thick, but I just couldn't help myself once I got started.

Even though the friends had vowed that things were going to be different with Grantaire this time everyone fell back into their old habits pretty quickly, with the notable exception of Jehan, who couldn’t help but be concerned considering the surly artist was living with him.

For the first week various friends popped by unexpectedly and sat with Grantaire and Jehan, trying not to look like they were checking up on their friend and failing spectacularly. Combeferre and Feuilly weren’t so bad, but Jehan lost two ceramic cat statues, a Quan-Yin, and a ceramic tea pot to Bossuet and Bahorel’s utter inability to navigate the small space. Grantaire sent a group text out to his friends after the loss of the beloved tea pot, sarcastically promising to show himself at the Musain at regular intervals to prove that he was still alive if they’d agree to leave Jehan alone.

He didn’t really expect to be held to the promise, but after three days of making excuses not to leave his nest on the couch he was called out on it.

Grantaire was sitting on the couch in his pile of blankets, taking generous chugs from a bottle he may or may not have been successfully hiding from his roommate and glaring daggers at the sketchbook he couldn’t fill, when he heard a knock on the front door. Jehan was out, attending a special lecture put on by the language department at their school before going to the Musain to meet up with their friends. Grantaire wasn’t expecting him back until sometime near eleven, and besides that, the kid wouldn’t knock on his own door. Scowling at the prospect of company, Grantaire made a small effort to appear presentable.

He screwed the cap onto the bottle, hid it in his backpack, and made his slow, shuffling way to the front door. When Grantaire flung it open and saw who was waiting for him he nearly slammed it shut again.

Enjolras was standing on the other side, and he looked pissy.

Without waiting for Grantaire to say anything, or even recover from the shock of seeing him, Enjolras brushed past him and walked into the apartment. He dropped his bag by the door and started taking off his winter wear and boots. Shit, so it was going to be an involved chewing out if he was making himself comfortable.

Itching for his bottle, Grantaire went back to his nest of blankets and flopped into a graceless sprawl. His hip was a bit sore for the sudden drop, but then, he was sore more often than not these days.

They still hadn’t spoken a word to each other.

Enjolras walked around the room, graceful tread much more suited to the cabinet of curiosities Jehan called an apartment than anyone save Prouvaire himself. Though he hadn’t done as much damage as Bahorel and Bossuet, Grantaire had had some close shaves with a few of Jehan’s knick knacks. He was sure he was going to owe the poet for something before he moved out.

Finally, Enjolras sat down in Jehan’s quilt-covered antique armchair and looked at Grantaire with that burning scrutiny that always made him feel ashamed of himself, even on the rare occasions when he hadn’t already been taking himself to task for something. Flinching under that steely gaze, Grantaire looked away, absorbing his attention in picking at his hangnails instead.

“You said you were going to start coming to the Musain again.”

Grantaire licked his chapped lips and shrugged, still pretending to be transfixed by his thumbnail. “I’ll go when I feel like it.”

“It’s not good for you to sit here by yourself brooding all the time.”

“I live with Jehan. Trust me, I’m getting plenty of emotional support and social stimulation. Fucking Christ, Enjolras, you don’t need to check up on me.”

“You haven’t exactly demonstrated your adeptness at taking care of yourself.”

Grantaire cringed, then twisted it into a smile, as though that didn’t sting. “To be fair, I sucked at looking after myself well before my tumble down the stairs. At least that one was accidental.”

Enjolras didn’t so much as flinch. “Don’t,” he said, voice hard, yet as controlled as ever. Grantaire shrugged again, and slouched down against the pillows. “I’m here because I care about you, and you lashing out and using that concern to hurt me won’t chase me away, so just skip it. Now, why are you avoiding us?”

“I’m not avoiding anybody.” Which was an utter lie, but Grantaire was feeling contrary.

Enjolras let out an irritated sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re unemployed, you’re on leave from school, and no one’s seen you at any of our usual hangouts. If you’re not actively avoiding us then you appear to have lost all sense of time. It’s been three days since anyone but Jehan’s seen you.”

“So? If Courfeyrac took off for three days no one would give a fuck.”

“No, no one would. Courfeyrac’s never given us a reason to suppose anything would be wrong.”

A silence settled between them. Grantaire dangled his leg over the edge of the couch and bounced his foot up and down while Enjolras merely glared into space. Their wills were clashing, and even though Grantaire expected to be the first to crack he still wanted to put on a good show. He knew Enjolras was stronger than him, but he was going to hold out as long as he could.

Then he noticed that Enjolras wasn’t glaring. The look was _like_ one of his glares, but in actuality he was trying not to cry. Grantaire didn’t notice that his eyes were wet until he saw his lower lip quiver ever so slightly.

“Enjolras?” Grantaire’s voice lost that artificial, carefully guarded quality he’d adopted earlier, genuinely confused about just what the fuck was going on.

Then suddenly Enjolras was sitting next to him in the blanket nest, slender fingers tightly gripping Grantaire’s shoulders and the tears spilled down his perfect cheeks and Grantaire’s uncertainty changed to panic. “Don’t you get it, you monster?” Enjolras sounded nearly hysterical. “You always rant about how worthless you are, and you could have died on that staircase, and you don’t take help and you won’t go to rehab and then when you go and disappear we all have to wonder if that’s the last we’re ever going to see of you. If it weren’t for Jehan telling us you’re still alive, I’d have no way of knowing. If you’re not going to leave and let me see you in person, can you at least answer my damn texts? You’ve got to give me _something_.”

Grantaire shifted out of Enjolras’ grip and pushed away from him on the couch, eyes wide and heart hammering. Enjolras’ breath was coming fast and his beautiful face was all twisted up and almost unrecognizable from his worry.

“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t expect you to care that much,” Grantaire mumbled.

Enjolras squeezed his eyes shut. “I don’t know why this is such a shock to you. I’ve told you several times over just how much I care about you.”

“We’re not talking about that.” They didn’t talk about it, because those dates never happened. Grantaire had enough to worry about at the moment without dredging that shit back up, thank you very fucking much. He hugged his sides and took a few deep breaths, trying and failing to calm down.

“Why the hell aren’t we?” Enjolras demanded, his voice feeling like a physical blow as his ire rose. “You’ve never given me a good reason for that, Grantaire. I love you and I know you care for me. Why can’t we act on it? Why are you making me pretend that nothing happened?” He leaned forwards, snagging Grantaire’s good wrist with his fine boned hand and making Grantaire jump, because he could never get used to that touch.

“Grantaire, please. Look at me. Talk to me, please. Let me in. I want to help.”

“You can’t,” Grantaire whispered, voice small and broken. “And I won’t bring you down with me, so will you just go away?”

A noise startlingly near a sob seemed to come from Enjolras’ throat, but that was all wrong because Enjolras certainly wouldn’t sob over a useless bastard like him.

“ _Please_ ,” Enjolras whispered. “I’m not going anywhere. Please let me help. I want to help so badly. That night, when we watched those shows and you were telling jokes that didn’t cut at either one of us, and you just held me, Grantaire I’ve had dreams about doing that again. We can be like that. You have it in you and I want to bring it out of you. I’ve been stewing in this bitterness since you pushed me away and I’m so sick of feeling this way, and of the fear. Even if you don’t want to be with me, that’s fine, but just stop self-destructing. I don’t want you to die.”

“I’m not going to die, Enjolras, I’m just…” Just what? Stagnating? He wasn’t actively trying to kill himself these days, but he wasn’t exactly putting his energy into leading a long and productive life. He was just waiting for everything to go completely to shit, as opposed to the half-finished mess he’d made of things.

Grantaire tried to think of something else to say, but it was hard to focus. Enjolras was still holding his wrist, but he wasn’t looking at him. He had his eyes closed, his face wrenched into a grimace as he took deep but stilted breaths. The silence was _suffocating_ him. He had to come up with something.

Then Enjolras spoke. “Do you care about me, Grantaire?”

“I…” Grantaire tried to tug his arm back, but Enjolras tightened his grip.

“No evasions. I want an answer. I’m in love with you and I think I deserve some kind of reply. Do you love me?”

There it was. Now he was trapped in every sense of the word. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think, and Enjolras still wouldn’t let go of him. He was weak and achy and he couldn’t fucking move and Enjolras was _glaring_ at him waiting for an answer. And there was no fucking way he could tell him what he wanted to hear, so he lied.

“Enjorlas, do you honestly think that I’d treat you this way if I loved you?”

Enjolras immediately dropped Grantaire’s wrist, and to the man’s eternal surprise he saw actual pain nakedly shining in eyes that had been steely and hard just seconds before. He’d never seen Enjolras so vulnerable before, and it cut him as much as Enjolras was apparently suffering.

Enjolras struggled to his feet, looking dazed as he went to the door. “Okay. Well, well I guess it’s good you cleared that up for me. I guess…I guess I’ll stop laboring under that delusion then. I…” He started to pull on his shoes, then abruptly stopped. “So wait, just what in the hell were you hoping to get out of me then? I won’t believe it. This is more evasion, isn’t it?”

Shit. No, he needed to get him out of there. The only thing for it was to twist the dagger.

“Fuck but you really are that naïve, aren’t you? Enjolras, you’re fucking gorgeous. Like, inhumanly perfect. I just wanted to take you to bed, you twit.” He needed to sprinkle in some truth if he was going to sell this though. “But we’re a mess together." Something they agreed on, even if Enjolras was stupidly idealistic enough to think they might be able to make a relationship around their fundamental incompatibility. "I just can’t relax around you, and it’s not worth it, not even for a night. You're wretched for me, and I'm wretched for you.”

Enjolras left so quickly that he forgot half his things.

Grantaire was pretending to sleep when Jehan got back from the Musain. He peeped out of the hole he’d made in the blankets, and took note when Jehan sadly gathered up the sweater, scarf, and gloves Enjolras had left behind.

* * *

As usual, Jehan left the apartment before Grantaire woke in the morning. He had two classes, then a lengthy break that he usually spent in the dining commons before heading to central campus for a world music elective. Instead of sitting down at his usual table with his tea and granola bar he went right to central and searched the library until he found Enjolras, who was known to spend his time between classes studying in the relative quiet.

Enjolras was sitting at a small, solitary desk in a far corner by the fire exit, nearly blocked from sight by an imposing stack of reference books and binders. He had his head down, an imposing scowl on his handsome face. Jehan cleared his throat, but Enjolras ignored him, pointedly turning a page in one of his books.

“Enjolras, may I interrupt you a moment?”

He finally looked up at the hesitant greeting, but there was little change in his expression. “I’m very busy, Jehan. And if it’s about what I think it is, I don’t have the time.”

Jehan reached into his bag and took out the things Enjolras had left behind the night before. He set them on the desk just behind the largest stack of books. “Are you alright, dear? I’d assumed you must have left in a hurry, which struck me as foreboding.”

Enjolras set his book aside and scrubbed a hand through his hair. When he looked up Jehan was dismayed to find his friend looking a bit drawn, the natural red tinge to the skin around his eyes a bit more pronounced than usual. “I’ll be fine, Jehan. Right now I’m trying to throw myself into my work. It’s one of my survival mechanisms. I can’t dwell on it just yet.”

Jehan nodded. “Alright. I’ll back off then. You know where to find me if you need me.”

“Thank you.” Enjolras turned back towards his notes, but Jehan sensed that there was something more coming. He lingered, and after a moment Enjolras spoke. “He’s…he’s made it rather clear that he wants nothing to do with me, even in friendship. I don’t think anyone realizes exactly how poorly he’s doing, and I can’t get close to him.”

“I’ll look after him,” Jehan promised. “Don’t worry, dear.”

“Thank you,” Enjolras said, voice barely a whisper. “And please keep me in the loop. I’m so worried about him, Jehan.”

“I know. I’ll do my best.” Jehan gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze, waited another moment to see if he was truly done, and once he felt dismissed he left for his usual spot at the dining commons. He trusted Enjolras to come to him when he was ready, and in the meantime woe to any uppity underclassmen or social conservative who crossed his path while he had misdirected emotional pain to vent.

* * *

After his last class Jehan went home, expecting to have an hour or two to himself before Grantaire got back from whatever daily wandering he went on to fill his time. To his surprise, his roommate was slumped over in front of the couch wearing the same clothes from the day before, a bottle resting in his limp grip with an assortment of smaller ones spread out around him.

“Grantaire?” Jehan dropped his bag by the door and crossed the room without removing his slush covered boots. He crouched at Grantaire’s side and gave him a gentle shake. “Grantaire? Hon, please look at me.”

“Hrnm…g’way.”

“’Taire, have you been here all day?” Jehan wouldn’t have believed him if Grantaire had tried to say he’d gone for a walk, but he couldn’t help asking. Actually, even a blatant lie would have been a reassuring response. Grantaire seemed incapable of getting his eyes open, let alone forming coherent speech.

Jehan pressed his lips together, then rose to his feet with as much calm as he could reasonably fake. He took off his winter things and neatly laid them in their places, then took his phone from his pocket and called Joly.

“Hello, dear. You’re not working at the home tonight, are you? …oh, oh lovely. Would you mind swinging by my place and helping me with Grantaire? He appears to have drunk himself into a stupor…no, I don’t think we need to bring him to the ER, but I’d like to get him cleaned up and put to bed and you’d be a great help to me…yes, thank you…alright, I’ll see you soon.”

Jehan cleaned up the empty nips, then snatched the sizable bottle of vodka from Grantaire’s slackened grasp and emptied what little was left down the sink. He wiped up the slush he’d tracked onto the carpet, and then nervously fidgeted until Joly arrived.

Joly took one look at Grantaire and then swore under his breath. He shrugged out of his coat and removed his boots with an exuberance brought on from irritation, then bent next to Grantaire and started scrutinizing him.

“Is he okay?” Jehan asked. He hadn’t thought Grantaire’s condition was serious, but then, he really wasn’t in a place to recognize alcohol poisoning when he saw it.

“I think so,” Joly said. “’Taire? We’re going to lift you onto the couch. If you can hear me, help us out, okay? Jehan’s not exactly trained for this and we don’t want to throw his back out. Jehan, here, get on his other side and grab his arm like I'm doing. Make sure you lift from your knees.”

They got him up onto the couch, at which point Jehan ceased to be useful. Joly poked and prodded at Grantaire a little more, got him coherent enough to drink some water, then he helped him change out of his dirty clothes and into a pair of pajamas. By the time Joly tucked him in he was lightly snoring.

“Do you know how much he drank?” Joly asked.

Jehan shook his head. “I wasn’t…I don’t even know where it came from, Joly. He must be hiding it.”

“Well then let’s find whatever else he has left.”

They searched the apartment, checking every nook and cranny they could think of for hidden stashes of alcohol. Considering Jehan’s decorating scheme, they’d been easy enough to squirrel away. Half of his vases had nips tucked into them, as did a solid perfume box, a music box, and an earring tree. They found a bottle of whiskey in the wicker cane basket, and two more bottles of vodka in the linen closet.

Jehan sat down heavily in his armchair and wiped at his eyes. “I take refuge in the Buddha, the dharma, and the sangha,” he murmured, feeling far from the serenity that phrase usually brought him. “How can we help him with this?”

“I’ve got one idea,” Joly answered. He was rooting around in Grantaire’s backpack, where he’d found an additional bottle of Jack and a few more nips.

“What are you doing?”

“This.” Joly extracted Grantaire’s wallet. He went through it and took out his license. “It’s not like he’s driving anywhere anyway. I’ll hold onto it for now, and we’ll search the place once a week on the off chance he talks someone else into buying for him.”

“Joly, isn’t that crossing a line?”

“Just so you know, it _is_ actually possible to drink yourself to death. That’s not just a saying.”

“I-I know, but-”

“I’m not letting him. He’s just…he’s not allowed to, okay?” Joly stuck the ID in his pocket and went to the doorway to bundle himself back up. “Are you coming out to the Musain tonight or are you going to stay in with him?”

“I…I suppose I ought to stay with him.”

Joly nodded. Apparently he’d been hoping Jehan would say that. “Good. I’ll come back, but I think I should tell the others about this first.”

“Joly, wait.” Jehan grabbed his arm and, looking a bit surprised, Joly eyed him expectantly. Jehan took a steadying breath. “Just be careful how you break it to them. I agree, our friends need to know, but Enjolras is-”

Joly snorted derisively. “I could give less than two fucks what Enjolras thinks right now. Come on, Jehan, you’ve seen the way Enjolras treats him. He’s my friend and I love the boy to death, but frankly he could use some second thoughts when it comes to our cynic. God knows he deserves some kind of return on his cold bitchiness.”

Jehan shook his head. “You don’t mean that.”

“I’m not even sure Enjolras actually _is_ worried about Grantaire. Anyway, it’s certainly nothing to the way the rest of us are feeling.”

“You’re wrong, dear.”

Joly arched his eyebrow, eyeing Jehan as though he wasn’t sure he was quite right in the head. “I suppose anything’s possible. Look, we all care about Grantaire. I wasn’t going to bust in there and work everyone into a panic.”

“Well, keep an eye on Enjolras for me. I’m worried about him as well.” And frankly, starting to feel irritated with his friends for taking Enjolras’ attitude at its most superficial. How could they not see what was really going on between the drunkard and the idealist?

But Joly promised to be mindful of their seemingly imperturbable leader’s supposed frailty, and really that’s the best Jehan could hope for. He sat with Grantaire after that, initially trying to study but finding his mind wandering far too much to try. So Jehan took out a journal and filled a few pages with anxiety fueled poetry until Joly returned.

He wasn’t surprised that Joly was accompanied; in fact, he’d rather expected at least a couple of the guys to come and check on Grantaire. However, Jehan wasn’t expecting everyone to try to cram their way into his tiny living room where they would undoubtedly overwhelm Grantaire should he awaken.

“What are you doing?” Jehan helplessly squeaked as slush and snow was tramped onto what had been a pleasantly clean carpet. As if in answer, Bahorel sent a ceramic vase crashing to the ground.

“Shit. I’m sorry, Jehan. I’ll replace it.”

“No, dear, I don’t think you will. That was an heirloom from my great grandmother.”

“Oh. Well I’ll cover you the next time we go to the Corinth.”

Somehow the friends managed to find perches in the crowded space. Joly sat on the arm of the couch Grantaire was still somehow sleeping on, looking oddly protective of the little sick nest and its sole occupant. Bossuet folded himself into as small a crouch as he could get at Joly’s feet, eyes raking over the room as if in fear his very presence would destroy another of Jehan’s possessions. Combeferre sat on a kitchen chair, Courfeyrac took the couch cushion on Grantaire’s other side, Feuilly took the armchair, Bahorel stood in the relatively large open space between the fridge and the folding tray Jehan had his meals at, and Enjolras leaned against the front door with his arms crossed over his chest, expression unreadable.

Jehan wrung his hands together. “You’re all going to terrify him if he wakes up.”

“Here, we brought you a tea.” Courfeyrac handed him a Musain to-go cup, clearly expecting that to appease him.

Jehan was trying to come up with something else to say when Grantaire let out a dull groan. Everyone leaned towards him, except Jehan, who felt suffocated on Grantaire’s behalf and Enjolras, who was trying his damndest to be unreadable.

“Hey, dude. You coming back to the waking world?” Courfeyrac asked, voice infused with fake-cheerfulness.

Grantaire stirred, one blue eye cracked open, and then he let out a further groan when he realized he was literally surrounded on all sides by his clingy friends. “Th’fuck r’you all doin’ here?”

“We’re here because we love you,” Courfeyrac said, sliding towards Grantaire’s cushion and cuddling him around his sizable cocoon of blankets. “Don’t you feel loved?”

“Grantaire, you were found insensible in a heap of empty containers,” Combeferre said. “We figured some form of intervention was necessary.”

“Intervention?” Jehan yelped. “I believe those are planned in advance, with professional help. Y’know, so they can be effective?”

“That’s what I said,” Enjolras murmured, bitterness creeping into his tone.

Grantaire leaned towards the doorway, blinking repeatedly as though trying to clear his vision. “Enjolras? What’re…why’re _you_ here? Oh holy fuck, will you all just back off? Courfeyrac, let go of me. Jesus fucking Christ…fuck.” He tried to shrug away from Courfeyrac, but that had him knocking into Joly.

Jehan was distantly aware of the fact that his nails were biting into his palms. With an effort, he unclenched his hands from the fists he’d unwittingly formed and took a deep breath. “My friends, we do not all fit. Some of you have to leave.”

“But Jehan-”

“I’ll go,” Feuilly said. “He’s right. This is only making it worse.” He got up, went over to the couch to give Grantaire’s arm a bracing pat, then went for the front door. With a sigh, Bahorel followed after him.

Bossuet nervously darted his eyes around the room. “I’d leave too, but I’m not sure I can get out of here again without breaking something.”

“I’ll help you,” Joly said. He guided Bossuet from the apartment, but he resumed his post by Grantaire rather than leaving himself.

Combeferre warily eyed the remainder of the room, nodded at Jehan, then left as well. He paused at the door, clearly expecting Enjolras to follow, but Enjolras seemed rooted to the spot.

Finally, Jehan had the space to fidget. He started tidying up in the hopes of calming his anxious nerves.

Grantaire was cradling his head in his hands, noisy, sob-like breaths escaping him intermittently. “Th’fuck’s going on?”

Joly recounted the events of the evening for Grantaire, who remained curled in on himself and getting increasingly panicky the further the story got. “Then I went to the Musain to talk to the others-”

“Even though it was none of your fucking business,” Grantaire snapped.

Courfeyrac sighed. “Grantaire, cut it the fuck out. You’re not allowed to guilt trip Joly for caring about you. Joly, he’s not. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Courfeyrac’s reassurance seemed to do little to cheer Joly up, but he continued, nonetheless. “We decided that we needed to be firmer about this drinking business with you. I took your ID and-”

“Wait one fucking second! You did _what_?!”

“Clearly you can’t handle the responsibility,” Joly said, raising his voice to be heard over Grantaire’s continued expletive filled protests. “And Enjolras is going to hold onto it until we trust you not to kill yourself with your drinking.”

Grantaire sat up, looking a bit wild as he glared at Enjolras. “Fuck you, you self-righteous son of a bitch! This won’t change a god damn thing, so we’re clear. You all think you’re helping? You’re not. You’re making it fucking worse!”

“You can get your ID back if you agree to get help,” Enjolras said. Jehan marveled at his composure. The poor thing must have felt a wreck, but there wasn’t a trace of it in his tone or bearing.

“Fuck you,” Grantaire snarled. “Fuck all of you! I found the one thing that helps me get through the fucking day and you want to take it away? Go fuck yourselves.” He tried to stand up, but promptly fell back into the blankets with a gasp of pain. He was clutching at his hip, but he snarled and tried to smack Joly when he darted forward to help.

Enjolras crossed the room and grabbed his hand. He gave Grantaire’s wrist a threatening squeeze, as he still seemed to be trying to hit Joly, but it was the bad wrist and that had Grantaire howling in pain.

“Enjolras!” Courfeyrac yelled. Enjolras threw Grantaire’s wrist aside and turned his back when Grantaire clutched it to his chest, eyes watering from the pain. Enjolras was shaking,  but Jehan supposed he was the only one picking up on that.

“W-we looked up programs,” Joly said weakly. “There’s a…a weekly meeting that’s only a block from here. Everyone’s willing to go with you, so you’ve got your pick of escorts. Grantaire, please, for the love of everything decent, work with us just a little.”

“Fuck off.”

Enjolras rounded on him. “You know what? I take back every hopeful thing I’ve ever said about you. I hope you do drink yourself to death because you are a vile excuse of a human being and you don’t deserve the concern we’ve been wasting on you. But you’re still not getting your ID back. And fuck off yourself.” He slammed the door behind him, sending yet another fragile trinket crashing to the ground.

Jehan bounced to his feet. “Well, this is certainly one way to clear away my clutter. Courfeyrac, would you be a dear and fetch the dustpan for me? Courfeyrac?”

But everyone was staring at the door in amazement. “What an unholy asshole,” Courfeyrac said. “I knew we shouldn’t have given the ID to Enjolras.”

Joly bracingly rubbed Grantaire’s back while he burrowed himself under the blankets, and Jehan left to get the dustpan himself.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras and Grantaire discuss their feelings.

“Jehan, you need to get my ID back for me.” Grantaire’s scratchy voice shattered what had been a fragile feeling of serenity in the tiny apartment. Once shattered, the equanimity fled, replaced by shuffling movement, impatient breaths, and a suspicious stare so potent it was felt and heard as well as seen.

Jehan pointedly turned a page in his Norton reader without looking up.

“I don’t think so, dear. What I really need to do is finish reading through the section on the Transcendentalists so I can write up a review for my professor, who apparently thinks I’m a junior in high school and not college. Juvenile though the assignment is, it still requires some focus and it’s due before midnight tonight, so if you’d kindly find some other way to occupy yourself for a few hours I’d appreciate it a great deal.”

Grantaire flopped onto the couch and crossed his arms over his chest. “You know, you were never this into your homework before. You were all about listening to me when I needed help. Now that everyone’s decided to gang up on me you’re suddenly unavailable. So I’ve exhausted even your legendary patience and compassion too, huh?”

“Grantaire, I simply need to finish this assignment. We’re a bit later in the semester now and my workload is increasing as a consequence.”

Though in truth, Jehan had stopped working on his assignments at school so that he’d have them as excuses once he got home to his inarguably exhausting roommate. Grantaire was right about that. Jehan wasn’t proud of his actions, but he could feel himself wearing down in the face of his friend’s weighty problems.

When he’d agreed to have Grantaire stay with him, he’d assumed their other friends would be aiding the two of them, not making the problems worse.

Grantaire stayed on the sofa for another minute or two, then started irritably pacing across the room while creatively swearing under his breath. Jehan tried to focus on his schoolwork, but it was difficult with Grantaire making so much noise. Not only that, but his safe little nest was being poisoned with all that bitterly displayed anxiety.

“Dear, would you please try to calm down?” Jehan asked, tone just shy of pleading. “I’m sorry I can’t be a good ear for you just yet, but if you’ll give me another hour or so to get this assignment finished then I can sit with you for as long as you need.”

Grantaire scowled. “I don’t need you to sit with me and hold my fucking hand, Jehan. I’m a fucking adult, something all you assholes seem to be forgetting. I just need you to help me get my fucking ID back.”

Sighing, Jehan set his books aside and stood up. He stretched out his back, then crossed the room and stood in front of Grantaire. He gently grasped his friend’s arm to still the pacing, which didn’t seem to be calming Grantaire down any while making Jehan incredibly nervous. “You understand why we took it, don’t you?”

“Barely. I know you didn’t do it just to fuck with me, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

Jehan adopted a sad smile. “Darling, you were hiding alcohol in my house. In addition to being a textbook sign of alcoholism-”

“I have never pretended I wasn’t an alcoholic-”

Jehan flinched at that, because he’d been hoping denial had been playing a part in Grantaire’s refusal to get help. Just what was his excuse, then? He gave himself a small shake and continued. “-Grantaire, it was also a violation of our friendship. I’m trusting you with my _home_. You know what that means to me. Right now you’re trampling all over the one space where I feel safe. The one place I know I can always find the peace to collect myself. You know what that means to me, and you filled it with your means of destruction. You tainted something very precious to me, and if your situation were any different I’d be quite angry with you over that.”

Grantaire rubbed at his eyes with a shaking hand. “I’m-I am sorry about that, but I…I just…look, it’s not even that I want my ID to buy booze. I can find other ways to do that, if push comes to shove. I need it because I’m unemployed and I need to get a job to get back on my feet. And a new employer’s going to need my ID. And I can’t pay for a replacement until I get a new job because I’m fucking broke right now, so I really need Enjolras to give me back the one he took. You can talk him into it, can’t you?”

Jehan pressed his lips together and shook his head. “No dear, I don’t think I can.”

“Well why the fuck not?!” To Jehan’s horror, Grantaire kicked over a folding table that had been displaying a full tea set as well as a vase of dried flowers and a few vintage poetry collections. The whole mess landed on the floor, littering the floor of the kitchenette with shards of pottery, broken stems, brittle petals, and bent pages. The table crashed into the wall, the kick having broken one of its legs.

Now Jehan was trembling. He backed away from Grantaire, his pulse in his ears as his instincts screamed at him to run and hide somewhere. But where the hell could he go? This was where he always went when he was overwhelmed.

Grantaire had gone pale. He took one look at Jehan and his building panic attack, swore under his breath, then grabbed his coat and hobbled towards the door.

“Gran-Grantaire! Puh-please. Please, wait. Wait-don’t…” Jehan broke off as the door slammed behind him. He tried to take a few deep breaths, looked again at the mess on the floor, of his broken treasures, and then collapsed onto the couch and hugged his knees to his chest.

For the next few minutes all he could do was try to breathe.

* * *

Enjolras was having an inordinately difficult time keeping his thoughts focused on any one task. First he had to give up on making progress on his Civil War and Reconstruction paper, then he had to ditch his Gender and Sexuality reading. After that he tried to update his blog, gave that up as not only impossible but frustrating to boot, and wound up pacing his apartment before he accepted that he was too wound up to do anything productive.

Usually, when he felt this way he poured his energies into addressing whatever was blocking him. That wasn’t an option this time though; he’d already tried and he’d failed. Worse even, he’d only pushed Grantaire further away. He couldn’t fix what had soured between them, so the only option was to get over him somehow.

Yes, he needed to get over Grantaire and hope to god that someone else figured out how to get through to the man. Someone else had to be able to save him, because if he kept getting worse, or if he died…

Enjolras gave a full body shudder. “I can’t keep doing this,” he mumbled.

He made the decision to try something he hadn’t attempted in years, and resolved to spend a quiet night alone doing something that was merely fun and not productive. He was tempted to seek out his friends, but Enjolras was still feeling stung and a bit resentful where everyone but Jehan was concerned, and so he decided he was better off alone. Besides, very few of his friends shared his taste in fun. Most of them would suggest going out for a drink or a round of some videogame or other.

His state of near-constant worry for Grantaire had resulted in quite a lot of muscle tension, much of it in his back. Deciding on a quick shower, Enjolras gathered some faded old sweats and headed for his bathroom. He turned the water on and started to strip out of his clothes, then caught his reflection on the mirror hanging on the back of his bathroom door.

Grantaire had called him gorgeous, perfect even. Of course, he’d only meant the surface. Enjolras rarely felt much investment in his physical appearance. He knew he could use his looks to his advantage, though he found using his arguments and the force of his personality infinitely more satisfying and so never bothered. And he’d thought Grantaire had been drawn to _him_ , not…

Enjolras turned away from the mirror and angrily yanked off the rest of his clothes before climbing into the shower. He was particularly vicious in scrubbing himself clean, to the effect that when he emerged his skin was pink and raw and he’d lost a fair bit more of his silken blond hair to the prongs of his hairbrush than was normal.

He left the bathroom wearing that pair of sweatpants he’d worn the night of his date with Grantaire, which was probably a mistake because now all he could think about was the feel of strong, calloused fingers dancing along the waistband. He scrubbed a hand through his hair and tried not to think of it.

Grantaire wasn’t worth it. A slave to his vices, he’d only cared to satisfy his lust. That deeper connection Enjolras was sure he’d felt had been the result of naïve idealism. He’d wanted to see better things in Grantaire so he’d created them where they hadn’t existed. Any pretty face would have done for the cynic, apparently.

And yet, Enjolras still couldn’t get himself to fully believe it, even when Grantaire had told him as much himself. A part of Enjolras’ mind kept nagging at him. There were plenty of attractive people at Grantaire’s disposal, many of whom would have been infinitely easier to woo. So why him? Why had he expended all that energy, come to their meetings, befriended Enjolras’ friends, if he hadn’t actually cared?

Enjolras collapsed on his couch and stared at the ceiling. He’d been thinking of rereading A People’s History of the United States, something he enjoyed and didn’t have to really focus on, but his mind was too distracted for even Zinn. He was tempted to call Jehan, but the poor guy probably had enough on his plate with Grantaire actually in front of him. Enjolras didn’t want to trouble him any further, even if he had offered himself as a confidante.

And of course, what he really wanted more than anything was to see Grantaire.

He wasn’t sure how long he was lying on the couch before there was a knock at his door. Enjolras climbed to his feet and padded into the hallway to answer it. He was a little excited, in all honesty, as any of his friends would have been a welcome distraction from his brooding (though he still didn’t want to go out drinking or play video games).

His heart leapt into his throat when he found Grantaire on his doorstep. Enjolras’ eyes widened, and he couldn’t get anything out in the way of greeting.

The kid looked a mess. He was leaning heavily on one side, clutching at his bad leg and wincing as he tried to catch his breath, face reddened from the wind.

“D-did you walk here?” Enjolras asked. “Where’s your cane?”

“Ah, a lecture first thing. Should’ve expected it,” he groaned out around pained gasps. “Can I sit down for a minute before you chew me out?”

“Come here.” Enjolras took his arm and helped him limp into the living room. He sat him on the couch and passed him a pillow, having seen Joly set up his posture with throw pillows enough to want to attempt it himself. “Do you need any Tylenol or anything?”

“I’ll be fine in a minute.”

“Grantaire, you are quite possibly the last person I expected to see. What are you doing here?” Enjolras remained standing, his arms folded in front of him. He tried to keep his expression neutral, but he was sure the crease between his eyebrows was giving his agitation away. Grantaire knew how to read him so very well. He must have known.

That was part of what drew Enjolras to the man, in all honesty. Grantaire watched him closely and often appeared to know him better than Enjolras even understood himself. He could dispense with pretenses entirely and just be himself, unguarded and straightforward. Grantaire would understand him even if he tried to shield himself, so it wasn’t worth the bother.

Grantaire sagged against the couch, his elbow resting on the arm of the couch, forehead leaning on his hand. He took a slow few breaths, then looked up to face Enjolras. He still looked like he was in pain, but he also looked conflicted besides.

“’Taire?” Enjolras hovered uncertainly, not sure if he should sit next to him or not. He had no idea what to do. “Are you…um, do you need anything? Can I get you a-”

“Enjolras, for fuck’s sake just calm down. I didn’t come over to fight with you again,” Grantaire said, a shadow of his familiar smirk briefly lighting his face. Enjolras smiled weakly in response, unconsciously drawing closer. “And I don’t need a refreshment or anything either, you weirdly polite idiot.”

“Okay. How…how have you been?”

He shrugged. “Achy. Sore. Now in addition to my hip and my wrist, I’ve got withdrawal symptoms to go with everything else, so, y’know. Things just keep getting better and better. What about you? Slammed with schoolwork?”

“I’m really sorry-”

Grantaire closed his eyes and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “Enj, stop. You’re trying to help me. I get it, I really do, and when I’m close to stable I even appreciate it.”

“You…you do?”

The smirk softened a bit, and Grantaire shifted his position a little, stretching his good arm over the couch in a manner that might have been an invitation. “Of course I do. Um…could you stop pacing? This is kind of nerve wracking enough with you standing over me like that.”

“Sorry.” Enjolras sat down next to him, though he tried to keep some space between them, even though as far as he could tell Grantaire wanted him there. It didn’t match his former behavior though, and Enjolras was completely thrown. He kept his posture completely rigid, ready to spring up and put the coffee table between them if he needed to. He even kept his hands folded in his lap.

And then Grantaire pressed against him, good arm slinging across Enjolras’ back and dropping down, fingers dancing along the hem of his sweatpants like they had during that utterly perfect date. Enjolras’ breath hitched. He felt unforgivably stupid for it, but it was utterly wonderful to feel Grantaire’s touch again.

“Enjolras, I’m so sorry about the things I said…I shouldn’t have, I mean, that was just me being cruel. I was having a really hard time, and you burst in when I didn’t expect you and I didn’t have time to try to, like, rally my sanity, and I panicked and I lashed out at you. It was really unfair and you didn’t deserve it.”

“Oh…okay. Um…” Enjolras licked suddenly dry lips and turned his head just enough to get a look at Grantaire. He looked earnest in a way the embittered young man very rarely was. In fact, Enjolras wasn’t sure he’d ever seen that much emotion simmering under the lovely blue eyes.

“I wasn’t thinking really clearly, but the one thing that kept replaying was that I needed to get you to go away so I wouldn’t hurt you. Pretty dumb, huh? I mean, talk about self-defeating methods. But since I _did_ end up hurting you…you can kind of appreciate why I made the attempt, right?”

“Wait, does that mean…you were lying?” Enjolras asked, trying not to let renewed hope overwhelm him. Their faces were very close together. Enjolras’ lips felt dry again.

“Yes, Enjolras, I was lying,” Grantaire breathed. “I’m mad about you and I always have been.”

Enjolras’ chest tightened in the most marvelous way. He closed his eyes. “I’d thought so, but…you were rather convincing.”

Grantaire’s fingers splayed out, urging Enjolras to relax, to press against him. Enjolras complied, falling against Grantaire and resting with his palms flat against Grantaire’s chest, a vast improvement from the tense posture he’d held before.

“Enjolras, I’m desperately in love with you, but I don’t think you can save me.”

“Of course not,” Enjolras murmured. “I can support you, but you’ve got to save yourself. I’ll do whatever I can for you though, I promise.”

“Enj, please, that’s not what I…I don’t want that for you. I just want to be very, very clear here. I don’t want you to be hurt over me because I am not worth that. And you’re…god, you deserve so fucking much. Like, you have no idea what you’ve already done for me. Just, just knowing you exist makes my fucking hellish nightmare of a life that much better. I don’t…I don’t even know what I’m doing right now.”

“That’s okay. I don’t know what we’re doing either,” Enjolras said. He leaned forward and pressed a careful kiss to Grantaire’s stubbled jaw, testing the waters. “But I’m beyond relieved to have you here, safe, and talking to me. This is wonderful. This is…this is _perfect_.”

Grantaire stroked his hand through Enjolras’ hair. He looked awestruck. “Wow. I’ve fucked you over enough for your standards to be abysmally low huh? I’ll try harder, I swear.”

“Just get better, ‘Taire. You don’t need to worry about me at all. I just want you to be happy.”

“Well, I’m feeling pretty damn happy right now.” Grantaire tilted his chin up and kissed him, a slow, soft thing that was over far too soon for Enjolras’ taste. “You’re so perfect, Enj. And so fucking beautiful.”

Enjolras smirked. “You’re not too bad yourself.”

The next few minutes were a blur of hands tangled in curly hair, kissed smiles, and Enjolras’ t-shirt hiking higher and higher. He found himself straddling Grantaire’s lap, which worried him on account of the injured hip, but then Grantaire kissed and sucked at a spot on his neck that made worry of any sort impossible. Grantaire’s lips were resting against Enjolras’ throat when he let out a low rumble of laughter.

“You’re so responsive.” His hands slid further up Enjolras’ t-shirt, running against the naked skin of his back and making him shiver. His rough fingertips were even grazing Enjolras’ shoulder blades. Then he stilled as something occurred to him. “This isn’t…I’m not the first person to make out with you, am I?”

Enjolras tightened the hand he had in Grantaire’s hair and tugged a bit roughly so that they were eye level. “Hey, less thinking. More kissing.” He silenced a possible protest by sealing his lips over Grantaire’s.

Yes, maybe this was his first time touching someone like this, but he seemed to be doing a fairly decent job of it. He was learning how to squirm just right in Grantaire’s lap to speed up his breathing, and Enjolras had heard him moan into that last kiss. Grantaire definitely _seemed_ to be enjoying what Enjolras was doing.

“W-wait,” Grantaire forced out between kisses. “ _Is_ this your first time doing this, Enjolras? Enjolras…”

Enjolras frowned. “I don’t see why that’s such a concern for you. You must know you’re the only person I’ve felt this way for. If my inexperience is that much of an issue-”

Something Enjolras couldn’t quite read overcame Grantaire’s features, but it was gone almost as soon as Enjolras even registered it. “Don’t worry. Forget I said anything.” He initiated a series of increasingly deeper kisses, hands roaming all the while, until Enjolras honestly did forget about it. All his doubts and anxieties fled in the wake of the blissful feeling of being in Grantaire’s arms, writhing on his lap, and having his breath stolen with the most wonderful kisses.

“Fucking beautiful,” Grantaire whispered. “Enjolras…can I…I’m really hard right now. Can I just, can we-”

“Yes.” Enjolras wasn’t sure what he was agreeing to, but he wasn’t going to refuse Grantaire anything. Such was his relief to have him there, sober, and admitting he was in love.

God, he was breathtaking when he smiled. “You’ll need to get off my lap then. If I wasn’t all gimpy, I’d try carrying you to the bedroom, but as is I’m almost guaranteed to drop you.”

Dazedly, Enjolras climbed off of Grantaire and helped him struggle to his feet. He was exceptionally reluctant to break contact with him for even a moment, and so kept an arm braced around Grantaire’s back as they walked to Enjolras’ bedroom. It probably wasn’t a bad idea anyhow; the poor kid’s limp really was sadly pronounced after his cane-less walk across town.

When they got to his room, Grantaire gently nudged Enjolras onto the bed. He went to his knees, settling between Enjolras’ spread legs and started kneading him through his sweatpants. Enjolras gasped, startled, and then mentally chastised himself for being startled. Of course this is where things had been going. Why would he have expected anything different?

Enjolras closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. This was a whole different ballpark from what they’d been doing in the living room.

“Enjolras?” The uncertainty in Grantaire’s voice sounded incredibly out of place with the huskiness of his arousal.

Enjolras snapped his eyes open and looked down, heart thudding when he saw Grantaire’s questioning gaze. “I’m okay.”

“If you don’t want to do this, it’s fine. I was just, I mean, I want to get you off. We don’t have to, but considering how miserable I’ve made you I’d like the chance to make you feel good. This is one thing I’m actually pretty decent at.”

Enjolras nodded. He released a shuddering breath and waited, not sure what was about to happen but sure that there was no one else he wanted to do it with.

Grantaire lovingly coaxed him to orgasm with hands and mouth, watching him carefully, clearly ready to stop at the first signal. However, at the first touch of that hot, wet mouth on his virgin cock, Enjolras’ desire overcame any hesitance he’d started with. He brought Grantaire off with his hand, kissing him messily and eagerly swallowing his moans until he came.

Afterwards they curled against each other on Enjolras’ bed, Enjolras watching Grantaire from half-lidded eyes with a smile on his face that must have looked idiotic. “Next time I want to suck you off,” Enjolras said.

Grantaire quirked his eyebrow. “Next time?”

“Yes, next time.” Enjolras wrapped his arms around Grantaire for good measure. “I’m not letting you go, just so we’re clear.”

“I definitely did not expect you to be this cuddly.” He sounded amused. Enjolras looked up, and felt a little giddy when he saw the smile on Grantaire’s face. It was such a wonderful moment. It was almost like all the mess and drama of the past few months had never happened.

Enjolras nuzzled against Grantaire and let out a contented sigh. “You will stay though, won’t you?”

“Of course,” Grantaire whispered. “God, like there’s anywhere else I’d rather be than naked in bed with you. Here.” He sat up just enough to finish kicking off his boxers, and then pulled a blanket over them.

Enjolras drifted to sleep feeling warm, loved, and utterly content, optimistically and perhaps a bit naively looking forward to the development of his first relationship.

In the morning, he was more than a little heartbroken to find himself alone in bed. Enjolras pulled on his sweatpants, dismayed to find his discarded clothing alone on the floor. He made a quick search of his apartment, but Grantaire was long gone by that point.

Enjolras felt sick to his stomach when he realized that not only was Grantaire gone, but so was the ID.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Grantaire goes missing, the Amis finally notice Enjolras' feelings for him.

Grantaire’s license had been safely tucked away in a drawer in Enjolras’ dresser. He hadn’t given the thing much thought since he’d put it there, not expecting to be able to return it for at least a couple of weeks.

He stupidly stared at the empty drawer, ran his hands along the contact paper the particle board had been covered with, and then frantically searched all the other drawers of the dresser and the floor around it. Not that he really expected to find the ID hiding somewhere else, but once he’d satisfied himself that it was an impossibility Enjolras hugged his knees to his chest and let out a pitiful moan.

He remained on the floor in front of his dresser, sobbing and shaking and hating himself for being so stupid. How could he have believed Grantaire? Why did he keep making himself so vulnerable to the man? And still, he was determined to find something good in the cynic when experience kept brutally reinforcing the lesson that it just wasn’t there. Grantaire didn’t want to be better. He didn’t want to overcome his demons; rather, he seemed to revel in succumbing to them.

Still, Enjolras couldn’t quite shake the thought that Grantaire must have meant at least some of what he’d said. Even he wouldn’t have gone that far with Enjolras just to have an opportunity to sneak around unobserved and locate the ID. He knew Enjolras was a virgin, and that that meant something to him. It was just cruel. There were other ways to get his license back.

Maybe, maybe he’d just woken up first and while he was waiting for Enjolras to wake up he remembered that the ID was somewhere in the apartment. Considering he was actively in withdrawal, which he’d even mentioned, it would have been nearly impossible to just let the thought go once it came. And when he’d found his license, the temptation to go procure alcohol would have been impossible to resist.

Right. Grantaire hadn’t necessarily seduced him just to get his license back. Enjolras wanted to believe that so very much, but he was starting to get a little cynical himself from his heart’s repeated bruising in Grantaire’s hands. He needed to talk to the man, get some answers out of him.

Enjolras dressed in a hurry, snagged his keys and his phone, and went to his car to drive to Jehan’s.

* * *

Meanwhile, neither Jehan nor Grantaire were home. After calming somewhat from his encounter with his roommate, Jehan had realized that he didn’t want to be alone and immediately called Combeferre.

He was meditating when he heard Combeferre’s steady tread up to the door. He slowly opened his eyes, blinked a few times to reorient himself after a prolonged period of stillness, and then went to greet his friend. He opened the front door just as Combeferre was raising his hand to knock.

Combeferre smiled knowingly. “Meditating then?” It was far from the first time Jehan had heard a nearly silent approach and beat a guest to the door.

“With my surroundings as an object of focus, even. I heard the most delightful car alarm while I was trying to be still. I think next time I’ll stick to using my breath.”

Combeferre shuffled in around him and kicked off his shoes, but kept his coat on. “You sound much better than you were on the phone.”

“I feel a bit better. I’m still shaky though. I appreciate you coming over. I, um, oh yes…” Jehan chewed his lip and fell silent. Combeferre’s eyes had just dated into the kitchen, hazel gaze resting on the mess on the floor. Jehan’s hands had been a bit unsteady for cleaning up broken ceramics, so he’d left it for the moment.

Combeferre gave his arm a sympathetic squeeze, then silently went to clean up the broken tea set and vase, and sweep up the ruined flowers. He carefully placed the poetry on Jehan’s coffee table, then examined the leg of the table. “Feuilly might be able to fix this.”

“It really was just more clutter. I think I can do without it.”

“I’ll carry it out to the dumpster for you if you’re sure about it.”

Jehan nodded. “That’ll be fine. Thank you.”

He was only gone a few minutes, and when he returned he didn’t bother taking off his shoes. He stood in the doorway, patiently watching Jehan and waiting for him to say whatever he needed to say. It was oddly soothing. Of course, there wasn’t a confrontational bone in Combeferre’s body, which was entirely the reason Jehan had called him rather than any of his other friends. Jehan was free to say as much or as little as he needed, the type of listening he was careful to provide for each of his friends but very rarely received in return.

“I don’t think I want to be here when Grantaire comes back, if that’s alright,” Jehan finally said.

Combeferre’s brow furrowed. “Do you want us to reconsider his living arrangements? I’m sure we can find another place for him to stay if need be.”

Jehan shook his head. “That’s not necessary. I think I’ve been rather good for him so far, and I’m happy to continue helping him as best I can. I just…I need a break. You know, to collect myself. He really scared me this afternoon. I’ve seen him angry before, but…I guess I’ve only seen the destructive side of his nature when it’s self-directed. And I think he may have flipped the table over to avoid slashing out at me.”

Combeferre scrubbed a hand through his hair and let out a slow, controlled breath. “It sounds like he’s getting worse.”

“Oh yes, no doubt of that.”

“Then…then are you sure you want to be the one on the front lines for this?”

Jehan couldn’t help it. His face lighted up in response to Combeferre’s obvious concern. He darted forward and placed a gentle kiss on his friend’s cheek. “Very much so. I might get panicky when people start throwing around my furniture, but otherwise I’m made of pretty strong stuff. I know I can help him and I’d like to keep at it.”

Combeferre snagged Jehan’s hand where it had been loosely swinging at his side and gave it a firm squeeze. Jehan fell silent under the intensity of that beautifully sympathetic gaze. “We’re all starting to worry about you and Joly, you know. You guys have been so good, and you’re really invested. If he keeps going downhill, I don’t want you to lose sight of the fact that it’s not your fault. Okay?”

Jehan laughed. “From what I understand, Musichetta’s been repeating it to Joly like a mantra. But to the matter at hand. Would you mind having me as a houseguest for the night?”

“Not at all. Far from it, in fact. I don’t think we get enough one on one time together.”

Jehan lit up again at that. “Excellent. Let me just throw a few things in my bag and I’ll be ready to go.”

Combeferre nodded at him, then went outside to start his car.

* * *

Accordingly, the next morning Enjolras spent ten fruitless minutes banging on Jehan’s door before he accepted that no one was home. He took out his phone, almost called Grantaire, and wisely settled on calling the poet instead.

Jehan barely got out a greeting before Enjolras snapped at him. “It’s a Saturday morning. You’re not in class. Where the hell are you and where’s Grantaire?”

“Oh dear.” Jehan sounded taken aback, but thankfully not as upset as he probably ought to have been. “I’m at Combeferre’s. What’s wrong, Enjolras? Did something happen?”

Enjolras’ throat tightened. He swallowed a few times and ultimately accepted that he was physically incapable of talking about what had happened just yet. Besides, he needed to find Grantaire and ask him just what the hell had happened before he had any chance of making sense of it. “I need to talk to Grantaire. Have you seen him?”

“Not since yesterday evening. We had a fight, and I fled for my sanity. I expected him to go for a walk, cool down, and come back to the apartment. He does that often enough.”

“Well he’s not there now and he’s got his ID again, so he’s probably drunk himself into a coma by now, wherever he is.”

“Wait, how did he get his ID?”

Enjolras’ traitorous throat tightened again. He shook his head even though Jehan obviously couldn’t see him, and choked out a response. “I’ll tell you about it later.”

“Okay. Dear? Are _you_ okay?”

Enjolras huffed out a bitter laugh. He leaned against his car and pushed some hair out of his eyes. “Not at all, actually. We really need to find him, Jehan. I need to talk to him about a few things.”

“Okay. Okay, we can definitely do that. I’ll go talk to Combeferre. Why don’t you call Courfeyrac? We can meet at his place and make a plan, figure out where we should search.”

“That sounds good. I’ll see you in a bit then.” Enjolras hung up and sat down in his car. It was a few minutes before he could get himself to make the call to Courfeyrac, and even longer before he could get himself to drive to the man’s home.

He hadn’t said as much in words, but Courfeyrac had made it clear regardless that he blamed Enjolras for Grantaire getting his hands on his license again. The rest of them would think it was his fault too. Well, really he supposed it kind of was. He’d fallen asleep, like a fool. He should have kept a better eye on Grantaire.

As Enjolras expected, as soon as he walked into Courfeyrac’s living room his friends fell silent. They were staring at him with varying levels of disapproval, Bahorel with open hostility even, save for Jehan. Jehan, at least, looked sympathetic.

The skinny poet darted forward and threw his arms around Enjolras. “Oh Enjolras, you look heartsick. What happened? Are you alright?”

Enjolras broke the hug with as little awkwardness as he could manage and stiffly shook his head. “Later, Jehan. We need to find him before he hurts himself.”

“Oh, he’s undoubtedly hurt himself already,” Courfeyrac said, mockingly cheerful. He bounced on the balls of his feet and clapped his hands together. “Right, so let’s split into pairs and check his usual haunts. Someone needs to go to the Corinth, obviously.”

“Joly and I poked in on our way here,” Musichetta said. “He’s obviously hiding from us. I don’t think we’re going to find him at any of the watering holes we frequent as a group. I did leave my number with the bartender though.”

Courfeyrac nodded approvingly. “Kay. There are a few liquor stores in that neighborhood though. Someone should go and ask about him.”

“His favorite one’s about a block from the Musain. I’ll hit it up,” Bahorel said. “Seriously, I went in there with him once and the cashier was chatting him up like they were old friends. Even asked if I was going out with Grantaire and looked disappointed when she found out we were just friends. When the liquor store clerk is treating you like family, it’s kind of a sign.”

“Bahorel, we’re already well acquainted with the extent of his alcoholism,” Enjolras snapped. “Can we please get back to our planning-”

“Don’t even, asshole. We wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you.”

“Bahorel,” Jehan started to say, but Bahorel rudely shoved past him and jabbed a finger at Enjolras’ chest. Enjolras returned his angry glare unflinchingly.

“You practically put the bottles in his fucking hands, Enjolras. You were always so fucking bitchy to him, and fucking scornful and shit. He just wanted you to notice him, and you bit his fucking head off, and then when we were finally getting somewhere with him, when we finally had a fucking plan you couldn’t even do your one job. He may just be a drunk and a joke to you, but he’s our friend and if you can’t take this seriously enough to hold onto a fucking ID then you shouldn’t have barged your way in and demanded to be a part of helping him. Because you’re not fucking helpful. You’re poison.”

“Bahorel!” Jehan squeaked.

Enjolras narrowed his eyes. “Are you finished? If you’d like to keep going with your tantrum, you’re perfectly welcome to do so, but I for one would rather focus our efforts on locating Grantaire in a timely fashion.”

Bahorel scowled at him, but he backed down. “Me and Bossuet’ll hit the neighborhood around the Musain,” he said, eyes still darkly fixed on Enjolras. Bossuet nervously touched Bahorel’s arm, motioned towards the door, and the two of them left without further comment.

Musichetta and Joly left shortly afterwards to canvas the neighborhoods around their campus. Courfeyrac and Marius decided to search the general vicinity of the Corinth, while Jehan and Combeferre committed themselves to searching the train station and Jehan’s neighborhood.

Enjolras was about to ask Feuilly where he wanted to search, but Feuilly talked over him as he started towards the door. “I don’t think I need a searching buddy. I’ll check out the cemetery. There are always guys getting shitfaced in the cemetery.” He all but slammed the door as he left.

Enjolras bit his lip and said nothing.

“Y-you should come with us,” Jehan said.

Enjolras shook his head. “We can cover more ground if I look somewhere else. I’ve got my own vehicle. It’s fine.”

“Yes, but…Enjolras, I can’t in good conscience leave you alone right now,” Jehan whispered.

“I’ll be fine,” Enjolras insisted, his voice only wavering a little. “Once we find him. But thank you, Jehan. Now, if one of the others finds him…will you make sure I get a text about it?” With how angry everyone seemed to be with him, Enjolras wasn’t sure he could count on being contacted. Bahorel didn’t seem to be the only one who wanted to keep him and Grantaire as far apart as possible.

He could feel their eyes on him as he took off. Enjolras didn’t have an assigned place to search and he didn’t have any ideas, so he aimlessly drove around their town, hoping inspiration would come and trying not to dwell on Bahorel’s words, or Combeferre’s silent sadness, or Feuilly’s simmering anger, or any of the rest of it.

He wound up circling the Commons before he realized that that was an inordinately good spot for someone to disappear to with a nondescript paper bag. He might find Grantaire sitting on a park bench. Enjolras parked at a hotel across the street from the Commons, double checked that his phone was stowed in his pocket, and set out along the walking trails.

There were actually quite a few inebriated looking people on the park benches, but Grantaire wasn’t among them. Enjolras was about to give up when his gaze rested on the gazebo. His feet started moving before his thoughts caught up with him, and before he knew it he was climbing up the concrete steps and looking around the cold, damp space. “Grantaire?”

“Nnrgh…” A prone figure opposite shifted a little in response to his voice. Enjolras dropped to his knees in front of Grantaire and shook his shoulders. His coat was too thin for the weather, and his shoes were soaked through. His eyes were bloodshot, his freezing form limp and lifeless in response to Enjolras’ increasingly frantic shakes.

“Grantaire, look at me,” Enjolras pleaded. The guy reeked of booze. Enjolras almost gagged when Grantaire exhaled in his face.

He managed to crack his eyes open, expression lost and confused. Eyes that were typically vibrantly blue had been dulled and rendered hazy. “Enj’lrassss…what’re…huh?”

Enjolras got his phone out and called Jehan. “He’s at the Commons. We’re in the gazebo.” Without waiting for a response, Enjolras ended the call, then gathered Grantaire into his arms, offending odors be damned, and settled in to wait for their friends.

* * *

The friends converged on the Commons, all of them tense and high strung, but manifesting their fear in different ways. Jehan and Bahorel were the two extreme ends of the spectrum; Jehan close to tears and Bahorel looking like he wanted to rip someone’s head off.

They arrived almost at the same time, each pair catching sight of the rest of the group striding towards the gazebo as they trickled in, and running to catch up so that by the time they got to the center of the Commons they were all together. Everyone had a pretty decent view of Enjolras hugging Grantaire to his chest and crying into the shoulder of his jacket.

Thankfully, all the anger any of them had felt withered at the sight of Enjolras’ uncharacteristic display. The friends had only been as angry as they were because of a misconception, thinking Enjolras’ iciness was genuine. Confronted as they were with an actual display of emotion, even Bahorel had to admit that there might have been something to Jehan’s words about a defense mechanism.

Combeferre gently urged Enjolras away from Grantaire so that Joly could examine him. Once he determined that the man didn’t require medical assistance, Bahorel and Feuilly picked him up and carried him to Courfeyrac’s car. They split back into their pairs from there to return to Courfeyrac’s, but this time Jehan rode with Enjolras.

* * *

Jehan pressed a mug of tea into Enjolras’ shaking hands. He briefly met Jehan’s eyes, murmured something that might have been a thank you, then went back to dejectedly studying the floor.

He was sitting at the table in Courfeyrac’s kitchen, Combeferre standing just behind him with a grounding hand on his shoulder. Courfeyrac was fidgeting around the kitchen, while the others remained in the living room, giving the smaller group some illusion of privacy, though no one doubted for a second that Joly, Bossuet, Musichetta, Bahorel, Feuilly, and Marius were eavesdropping.

They’d put Grantaire to bed in Courfeyrac’s room, and Joly was running in to check on him at regular intervals.

“Enjolras,” Combeferre finally began. “You don’t have to tell us anything you don’t want to about what’s going on between you and Grantaire. No one expects you to. But there’s also no need for you to be going through this alone.”

Courfeyrac awkwardly cleared his throat. Enjolras wondered if he was going to get an apology, though he didn’t much care if any of them apologized as long as they didn’t try to block him from seeing Grantaire.

“Um…sorry to be the asshole here, but if he’s manipulating you somehow, you should probably let us know. Er…it’s starting to look like he didn’t get the ID out of you because of indifference.”

Enjolras squeezed his eyes shut in a grimace. “Believe me, I wish I were indifferent when it came to him.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Jehan said. “Enjolras, it doesn’t. Even if he did manipulate you somehow, he won’t be able to do it again. We’ve agreed this time. We’re not backing down until he checks himself in somewhere for professional help. This is the last straw. Even he’s got to recognize how bad things have gotten.”

Enjolras rubbed at his eyes. “I just don’t even know what to think anymore. I-in the past forty eight hours he’s gone from loving me to hating me to just wanting to get in my pants to loving me again, and then when I believed him…h-he was gone by the time I woke up. I don’t…I just, I really want to talk to him, but I don’t even know if I can believe what he says anymore. It seems like he’ll say anything as long as he can keep drinking.”

Courfeyrac was gaping at Enjolras in shock, while Combeferre’s grip on Enjolras’ shoulder started to get painful. Jehan looked like he might start crying himself. “Enjolras, did he…did the two of you…you know what, never mind. It’s not my business.”

“I don’t know, guys. If he fucked Enjolras just so he’d be able to buy some booze, that’s like a whole new level for him,” Courfeyrac said. “Is that what happened? Please tell me that’s not what happened.”

“K-kind of?” Enjolras chewed his lip. “I’m not really sure. W-we didn’t have penetrative sex, and I, I mean there’s a chance it wasn’t a ruse, isn’t there? He might have feelings for me, and then when he had the opportunity to look for his license while I happened to be sleeping when he happened to be awake, he…oh god, I’m pathetic, aren’t I?” Enjolras broke off and dropped his head into his hands.

“You’re not. Enjolras, you’re not. This is a horrible situation you’re in, but you’re not to blame,” Jehan insisted.

Combeferre started pacing across the kitchen. He looked like he wanted to throw up. “Enjolras, it doesn’t matter if the sex was penetrative or not. If he slept with you so he could search your house while you were sleeping then he is far more screwed up than I thought.”

“Yeah…” Courfeyrac looked distinctly uncomfortable. He slowly walked out of the room, leaving Combeferre and Jehan to try to console Enjolras somehow.

They hadn’t gotten very far when he’d returned. Enjolras was still sitting hunched over with his head down, Combeferre rubbing his back and Jehan struggling to find something to say.

“Alright guys, he’s up.”

Combeferre quirked an eyebrow. “He’s up? I expected him to sleep until midnight, at least.”

“Yeah, well he might have had some help from me dragging his sketchy ass to the shower, dousing him with ice cold water, and slapping the shit out of him.”

“Courfeyrac, you are psychotically cheerful right now,” Combeferre said. Courfeyrac walked past him and approached Enjolras.

“Hey,” his voice was unusually soft. “Do you want to go in there? You don’t have to, you know. We can grill him for you. In fact, I’ve got quite a few questions I’d be more than happy to ask him.”

Enjolras shook his head. “It’s okay. I’d rather do this myself. I’d appreciate some privacy though.” His friends immediately pressed closer to him, all three looking troubled. Enjolras had calmed enough to be nearly in command of his emotions though, and he turned them a mildly exasperated look. “Much as I appreciate your concern, I’d rather be the one to talk to him.”

“Just, um…come get us if you need us,” Jehan said meekly. He clutched at Combeferre’s hand, likely to keep himself from grabbing onto Enjolras and insisting on following him into the bedroom.

Enjolras tried to ignore the looks he got as he walked through the living room. He was mostly successful, though he caught Bahorel’s guilty expression out of the corner of his eye. The bedroom was dark, the only light coming from the open bathroom door. The carpet between that doorway and the bed was wet, and Enjolras had some trouble avoiding the damp spots as he approached the bed.

Grantaire was lying in a heap on the bed, violently shivering and clutching at a towel that had been thrown over him. His hair was still dripping into his eyes. Enjolras went into the bathroom, fetched another towel, then sat down on the bed beside him and rubbed it against his hair.

“How are you feeling?” Enjolras asked.

Grantaire squeezed his eyes shut and heaved a shuddering breath. “Like complete and utter shit.” He was starting to lose his voice. It was low and scratchy, ready to crack with the slightest display of emotion.

Enjolras kept rubbing his hair with the towel until it was manageably damp rather than a saturated mess, then he urged Grantaire to resettle with his head in his lap. He wrapped him in Courfeyrac’s soft duvet and stroked his hair until his breathing lost that panicky quality that couldn’t have been comfortable on a raw throat.

Grantaire kept his eyes closed and remained silent all the while. It seemed he wasn’t ready to face Enjolras just yet. Which was fine for him, because he wanted to enjoy softly caressing Grantaire’s hair for as long as he could, sure as he was that anything Grantaire was going to say would only destroy the last, fragile thread of his hope for them having a future together. He wanted to delay that moment for as long as possible.

Grantaire’s face scrunched up like he was in agony. Enjolras was about to call for Joly, but then Grantaire covered his face with his hands and finally spoke. “Why the fuck are you being nice to me? How in the hell can you be _nice_ to me after what I did?”

“Why shouldn’t I be nice to you?” Enjolras asked, a glint of challenge coming into his tone, which was a wonderfully familiar feeling to hide behind in the face of so much uncertainty. “We’re never going to get anything accomplished if we’re both being jackasses.”

Grantaire let out a hoarse, shaky laugh, then struggled up onto his arms. “Thanks for calling me a jackass, but that doesn’t really do it justice. Keep going. Call me a selfish son of a bitch. A manipulative fucking bastard. A shit whale. A douche nugget. A dickless, sniveling, festering excuse of a fucking turd. I deserve whatever vitriol you want to hurl my way. Oh fuck, I need to lie down.”

Enjolras helped him over to the pillows and resettled the duvet around him. “Ssh…calm down, Grantaire. You must be feeling wretched. And spending the night in the Commons in a thin jacket wasn’t your brightest idea either.”

Grantaire quirked an eye open and swiveled it to look at Enjolras. “I didn’t spend the night there. The sun was already up when I left your place.”

“Oh. I’d just…just assumed that…”

“Assumed that I snatched my license and snuck off to get shitfaced as soon as you nodded off?” Grantaire frowned. “Fuck. Again, why are you being so damn nice to me? You should hate me. Enj, I…I’m not proud of what I did. Not that you should have taken my ID from me in the first place, mind you, I’m not letting up on that. But I…I didn’t sleep with you so I could steal back my license. I went over because I wanted to talk you into giving it back to me, and maybe see if I could find it while you were in the bathroom or something. I’m definitely an asshole, I’m not denying that. But I sat with you until sunrise watching you sleep and cuddling the fuck out of you. What we did meant something to me.”

Enjolras could feel his eyes welling. He curled up against Grantaire, hid his face in his chest, and sobbed out his relief. Grantaire weakly rubbed at his back. “I’m sorry.”

“If you mean that then act on it.” The tears ended as soon as they began, relief giving way to anger. “If you’re sorry then it means you at least recognize that you’ve been abysmal to me. I can’t trust you at all. You’re manipulative and you’re a liar and it’s all because you’re giving in to your sickness and you’d rather get drunk than work on yourself. If you feel at all bad about what you’re putting me through, then prove it and man up and get the help you so desperately need. I mean it, Grantaire. I value myself enough to know that I deserve better than this, and I’m not at all bothered by the prospect of being alone. I don’t plan on shedding any more tears over you.”

Grantaire stared at him with wide eyes, mouth working furiously but nothing coming out. He licked his dry lips and gave a dull nod. “Right, yeah. Of course. You’re…you’re absolutely right.”

Taking pity on him, Enjolras leaned forward and kissed his temple. “I love you, Grantaire. I’d like to be able to believe you the next time you said it to me. Will you please try to quit drinking?”

“If I do then I have to face everything.” He sounded almost childish. “I can’t ever turn the thoughts off, but when I dull them I get peace.”

“Therapy might help,” Enjolras said, hoping his voice was as gentle as he thought it was. He knew Grantaire had a tendency to see judgment in his actions when he didn’t intend it, and that was possibly the last thing they needed at the moment. “No one would think less of you for needing professional help.”

“Yeah, sounds like you guys would be doing a fucking happy dance. I mean, assuming the guys don’t kill me. Courf was really pissed.”

“I’ll talk to them,” Enjolras promised. “Joly’s already done the research for you. He’s even got forms at the ready. We can get you checked into a program. I’ll see you every day and help you with the burden. I meant what I said last night. I’m not letting go of you.”

“You should. I’ll only drag you down with me.”

Enjolras flicked his nose. “Stop saying that. For someone with shit self-esteem, you’re showing an awful lot of presumption. Do you think me so delicate that supporting you through some drunken tantrums will destroy me?”

Grantaire looked at him with haunted eyes. “I appreciate the attempt at lightness, Enj, but we both know we’re talking about more than drunken tantrums. I should be dead like a hundred times over. It’s luck and nosey ass friends that’ve kept me above ground so far. Besides, even I can see that caring about me is hurting you, and I can barely wrap my mind around the fact that you give a shit about me. This is not a good idea.”

“Let me worry about me.” Enjolras kissed the side of his mouth. “Go to sleep. You look like you need a solid rest. I’m going to talk to Joly, and tomorrow we’re checking you into a rehab program.”

“Enj-”

“You said you were sorry. If you want to be forgiven, you’ll go to rehab.”

Grantaire closed his mouth and dully nodded. He looked defeated.

Enjolras twined their fingers together and brought them to his lips for a kiss. “I have faith in you, Grantaire. I know you can do this. If you don’t have faith of your own just yet, please consider trusting in mine.”

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Grantaire mumbled. “But you know a hell of a lot more about faith than I do. I’ll go to the fucking rehab.”

Enjolras’ smile was so wide it was painful. He closed his eyes and forced himself to calm down. He was setting himself up to be heartbroken again if he just blindly accepted what Grantaire was saying again. He needed to wait for results this time.

He kissed Grantaire one more time, then climbed out of bed and went out to the living room, closing the door behind him as softly as he could.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was a quick update. I have to confess, I've reached that point in the story where I'm writing to see what happens next and not because I actually know what to expect anymore. It's kind of moving away from me. I might not get to write the ending I'd planned (which would absolutely be fine with me because that one was HORRIBLY depressing).
> 
> Also, I'm feeling some Jehan/Combeferre from this chapter. Thoughts?


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire is scolded but not abandoned. Jehan finds the peace to break apart a little and is helped back together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, look what I remembered I was writing. Sorry for the lengthy absence. I've got some clear ideas for where this is going, so the next update shouldn't take me another year :P

It took a surprising amount of effort to convince everyone to not beat the piss out of Grantaire. Whereas Enjolras was relieved his friends were no longer mad at him, he was surprised to see how quickly and thoroughly their ire had shifted to its new target.

“You know, this doesn’t really change anything of substance,” Enjolras said, huffily crossing his arms over his chest. “The fact that I return his affections doesn’t make him less ill.”

“But the way he’s treated you, Enjolras,” Feuilly said, frowning. “What he did to you wasn’t right.”

“I know,” Enjolras said, starting to lose patience. “But he only did it because he’s sick. And we still want to help him, right? Guys?” A less than enthusiastic mumble rose up from around the living room. Enjolras smacked a hand over his face. “Okay, let’s try this again. Look, we’re still in agreement that Grantaire’s behavior is going to get him killed. You’re all now aware that I feel very strongly for him and that he’s been making use of that partiality to manipulate and hurt me. You know what would really help me work out my issues with Grantaire? If he lived long enough to be able to do so. I’m not going to get closure if he drinks himself to death.”

“That is definitely true,” Jehan said, sounding a bit meek. He let out a tiny ‘eep’ when Bahorel snarled at him. Combeferre shot Bahorel an exasperated look and wrapped a protective arm around Jehan’s shoulders.

“I just…I can’t believe the lengths he was willing to go with you just to buy booze,” Joly said. He looked shaken. “I knew he was bad, but…well, I’d hoped he wasn’t that bad. Enjolras, do you really think we’ll be able to get him checked in tomorrow?”

“He said he’d go.” Enjolras shrugged. “I’m not sure if I believe him, but we’ve got to try. Will you all please stop looking at me like that? It’s not like he lured me into bed under false pretenses. I _wanted_ to do what we did, and I enjoyed it. Does that make you all feel better, or should I continue to elaborate on my intensely private concerns?”

“I’ve…got absolutely nothing to interject here. Um, yeah.” Bossuet scratched at a likely non-existent itch on the back of his neck. “I’m just gonna go. You guys can call me if you need me.”

“Oh good, we can leave now?” Bahorel asked. He threw another apology Enjolras’ way, wished everybody luck, and followed Bossuet out the door.

Courfeyrac watched Feuilly leave, and then something occurred to him. “Hey, wait a minute!” he shouted, interrupting a quiet feud between Musichetta and Joly, who weren’t in agreement over whether it was appropriate for them to take off yet. “Where are we keeping him until he goes to rehab? He can’t stay here all night. I’ve only got the one bed and Marius is on my couch.”

“I was wondering how you were doing the roommate thing in a one bedroom,” Combeferre mused with a smirk.

“I’d just assumed you were screwing,” Musichetta said, then laughed at the scandalized look on Marius’ face. “Oh come on, I’m not the only one.”

Combeferre, for one, looked thrown. “Does that mean you two aren’t an item?”

“No, of course not!” Marius yelped. “I’m seeing someone. A _girl_ , as I’m straight.”

“And I’m seeing several someones, just like usual,” Courfeyrac added, apparently having given up on monogamy already. “Course Marius, if things ever go badly with you and Cosette, and you start to get curious, I wouldn’t mind-”

Marius stuck his hands over his ears and started singing gibberish. Courfeyrac rolled his eyes, but he still regarded Marius with affection. “Isn’t he the cutest, most sheltered little thing you’ve ever seen?”

“Yes, marvelous. Now where shall we have Grantaire spend the night?” Enjolras asked, starting to get annoyed.

“He’s not going back to Jehan’s,” Combeferre said. Jehan quirked an eyebrow. “What? The last time he was there he destroyed your property and set off your anxiety. No one’s going to be helped if he renders you a hyperventilating wreck again.”

Jehan bit his lip and edged away from Combeferre. “My apartment is still an option, if no one else wants to take him.”

“I’ll take him,” Enjolras offered.

Combeferre helplessly spluttered at that, and gesticulated wildly between Jehan and Enjolras. “Wh-what? _No_! I can’t be the only one who thinks that’s a bad idea.”

“You’re not,” Joly said, looking at Enjolras with open disapproval. “Enjolras, you most definitely should not be alone with him right now.”

“I can handle myself-”

“No, you can’t. He knows you too well, and he’s desperate.” Joly took a few steps towards Enjolras, locking gazes with him. “How much experience do you have with addicts, Enjolras? It gets much worse than a flipped over table or a disingenuous seduction.”

Enjolras returned the challenging gaze unflinchingly. “I’m going wherever he goes. If you guys want to send him somewhere else, you can expect me as a houseguest.”

“They’re not crashing with us, Jol,” Musichetta said, preempting him. “We don’t have the room, and besides that, we have alcohol in the house and we don’t have any place to hide it from him.”

That detail made the discussion much easier. Only Enjolras and Jehan had alcohol-free homes, and Jehan’s apartment was too small to accommodate a sleepover. They decided to have Grantaire spend the night at Enjolras’, with Combeferre and Jehan as company. Joly promised to meet them first thing in the morning with information and paperwork on the detox programs he’d looked up, and then Musichetta all but dragged him from the apartment.

Combeferre and Jehan left to go to their homes and retrieve a few things, promising to meet Enjolras at his place, which left Courfeyrac, Marius, and Enjolras together in the living room. Marius was sitting on the couch, looking intensely uncomfortable, his pale skin still a bit flushed from the suggestion that he and Courfeyrac were lovers.

Enjolras steeled himself, then went to the bedroom and opened the door. Grantaire was sleeping on the bed, well cocooned in Courfeyrac’s blankets. Enjolras crept across the room, intending to wake him gently, but then Courfeyrac flicked the lights on and gave a shrill greeting. “Rise and shine, sleeping fucktard! We’re transferring your ugly ass to Enjolras’ car now, kay?”

Grantaire let out a loud groan and burrowed further into the blankets to escape the light, while Enjolras whacked Courfeyrac’s arm. “That attitude of yours is not helping.”

“Look, his damaged asshole pheromones aren’t working on me. He’s going to have to do more than flutter his vulnerable blue puppy dog eyes for me to be anything close to okay with him.”

Enjolras scowled at him, then sat down on the edge of the bed and gently coaxed the blankets down. “’Taire? Hey…you’re going to spend the night with me. Combeferre and Jehan are already on their way back to my place. You can sleep as much as you want to, but we’ve got to get you there first. How are you feeling? Do you need me to help you to the car?”

Grantaire blearily stared at him, apparently disoriented. “I can’t just stay here?”

“You are not fucking sleeping in my bed,” Courfeyrac snapped. “Come on Enjolras, just haul him to his feet. You’re stronger than he is.”

“Courfeyrac, you’re supposed to be helping.” Enjolras turned his attention back to Grantaire. He carefully brushed the tangled hair out of Grantaire’s face with the tips of his fingers and offered him a smile he hoped was reassuring. “Come on, ‘Taire. It’s time to get up. Come along with me so I can help you.”

“Kay…m’up. I’m…fucking dizzy again, hold on.” Grantaire tried to sit up, but lurched forward almost immediately. Enjolras steadied him, getting an arm braced around his waist.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

Grantaire tried to smile, then winced and hid his face in Enjolras’ shoulder. “Fuck, but I feel wretched. Let’s get this over with quickly, yeah?”

“Of course.” Enjolras helped him get untangled from the blankets and climb to his feet, then they slowly lurched towards the doorway together. “Courfeyrac? He’s mostly got his own weight, but could you get the doors for us?”

“Yeah, sure.”

It took a bit of effort, but they got Grantaire out to Enjolras’ car and safely tucked into the front passenger. Enjolras nudged him to put on his seatbelt, then shut the door and turned to say goodbye to Courfeyrac, and was surprised to have the guy brush past him and open the door again.

“Hey dude.” Courfeyrac leaned in and handed Grantaire a water bottle. “You’re probably dehydrated as fuck. I’m still pissed at you for being a dishonorable shithead and jerking Enjolras around but…you’re my friend and I want you to get better. You got that?”

Grantaire’s fingers tightened around the water bottle. He licked his dry lips, then gave a slow nod. “Thanks, Courf. I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah. Well, good luck.” Courfeyrac nodded at Enjolras, shut the car door, and went back inside.

Enjolras slid into the driver’s side and immediately noticed how violently Grantaire was shivering. “Is that you being sick, or your jacket being insufficient for…well, I suppose it doesn’t matter either way.” He turned the heat up and made sure the vents on Grantaire’s side were wide open and facing him. “Drink that water, Grantaire. You’ll feel better.”

“Yes, _Mother._ ”

“Don’t even. That makes what we’ve done already and what I hope to do in the future unsettling.”

Grantaire eyed him curiously while dutifully sipping water. Enjolras thought he was going to say something, but Grantaire remained quiet, so he kept his focus on the road.

They were nearly at his apartment before Grantaire said what was on his mind.

“You know, I’m pretty obviously fucked up. I mean, even when I did try to keep it a secret I kind of sucked at it. You know I’m fucking damaged and that my self-esteem’s like nearly non-existent. But you’ve always seemed like you were made of stronger stuff than me. What’s your excuse?”

Enjolras frowned. “Pardon? I’m not sure I’m following you.”

Grantaire laughed, entirely without humor. “Oh come on, Enjolras. Look, you’re fantastic in like every way possible. You’re brilliant, you’re passionate, you’re fucking trying to save the world and you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. And I’m an art major; I’m saying this as someone who’s technically an expert at beauty. You surpass everything, inwardly and outwardly. So…so how bad’s _your_ self-esteem that you think you deserve me? I have nothing to offer you. Nothing.”

Enjolras pulled up in front of his building and parked the car. He gathered his thoughts while he shut it off and undid his seatbelt, and was quiet long enough that Grantaire appeared to have given up on getting a response.

He was hunched over in his seat with his head in his hands. Enjolras surprised him by giving him a quick peck on the cheek, though he had to lean at an awkward angle to do so.

“Possibility, Grantaire,” Enjolras said softly, while Grantaire righted his posture and regarded him in awe. “I see so much possibility in you. I’d love it if you’d try to live up to it, instead of giving yourself up as lost. You aren’t, you know, and even if you were…I’ll always help you find your way again.”

Enjolras reached over and clasped Grantaire’s hand, twining his own slender fingers with Grantaire’s rough, cold-cracked ones. Grantaire looked at their joined hands and let out a soft, helpless sounding noise. A few silent tears tracked down his sickly cheeks.

“I don’t know what to say,” Grantaire mumbled.

“A first?” Enjolras smiled at him, hoping the affection he felt for the man was starting to make an impression on him. “Come on. Let’s get you inside.”

* * *

Combeferre and Jehan had beat them to the apartment, but as each of them had one of Enjolras’ spare keys they’d simply made themselves comfortable in the living room. They’d laid some take out on the coffee table and piled the floor with every pillow and blanket Enjolras owned.

“Hi!” Jehan waved at them. “Grantaire, you’re looking much better. How are you feeling?”

“Hungry,” Grantaire said, eyeing the food. “I don’t think I’ve actually eaten anything today.”

“Me neither.” Enjolras fussed over Grantaire while he was getting settled on the floor, immediately throwing a blanket around his shoulders, and then looked through the food containers. His face scrunched up judgmentally. “Did you get anything besides soup?”

“Grantaire’s sickly. You’re supposed to eat soup when you’re sick,” Jehan said with a pout.

Grantaire lifted the lids off a few of the containers, giving them suspicious sniffs. “I’m not, like, actually ill you know.”

“Actually, considering you sat outside in the cold in a jacket no warmer than a windbreaker for at least six or seven hours, you probably are.” Enjolras smacked his hand away from a heavy looking black bean soup and passed him a chicken noodle. “Keep drinking the water while you eat it. All the sodium in this soup isn’t going to help with how dehydrated you must be.”

“I really am going to have to start taking better care of myself, aren’t I? Because seriously, with you on my back like this-”

“Grantaire, you’ve most certainly earned it,” Combeferre said, eyes narrowed in irritation. “Now listen to the man and drink your water.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes, but he did finish off what was left in the water bottle. Enjolras went into the kitchen to get him another one. When he returned he got a strong suspicion that Combeferre had said something threatening to Grantaire during his brief absence. Jehan looked scandalized, Grantaire had gone pale and was staring at the floor, and Combeferre looked oddly satisfied about something.

“Everything okay?” Enjolras asked.

“Oh yes, lovely,” Jehan said, giving off false cheeriness. “Combeferre was just showing off his fine knowledge of anatomy.”

“By warning Grantaire that if he isn’t more careful regarding a specific part of his, he’s in every danger of losing it,” Combeferre finished. Grantaire flinched at his words.

Enjolras stared at them for a minute, trying to decide how he felt about that threat. He decided Grantaire deserved a bit of scare, all things considered, and really in a way it was kind of sweet that his friends were so worried about him. He sat down next to Grantaire, reassuringly squeezed his knee, and kissed his cheek before handing him the water bottle. Then he turned his attention to Combeferre.

“’Ferre, if you castrate my only lover we _will_ be having words. I’m rather fond of that particular part of his anatomy.”

Combeferre snorted, Grantaire groaned and hid his face in his hands, and Jehan came alarmingly close to a spit take with hot tea.

Enjolras’ unexpected comment seemed to have significantly lightened the mood. They ate together in relative peace, some semblance of their usual friendly rapport returning. Enjolras held Grantaire’s hand whenever he could get away with it and doted on him in a fashion he never would have previously, but otherwise things felt almost like they had before Grantaire’s turn for the worse.

Once the food was cleaned up they put on a movie and curled up in the blankets, remaining on the floor. Enjolras settled in Grantaire’s arms, pillowing his head on Grantaire’s chest with the result that Grantaire watched him more than the movie. When Enjolras drifted off to sleep he felt something close to contentment, though he had to keep himself from thinking about the morning to do so.

* * *

Meanwhile, Jehan couldn’t help remaining awake far later than his friends. The last couple of weeks had been severely demanding on him, and all the stress was starting to catch up to him. The thing was, he’d _thought_ he’d been dealing with his stress and facing it as it arrived, so the oppressive constraint on his breathing and the trembling of his hands that signaled an impending breakdown took him by surprise.

They’d thrown all the blankets on the floor in anticipation of sleeping in the living room together; that way Enjolras wouldn’t be alone with Grantaire and there would be three sets of ears to listen for him trying to sneak out of the house. But when Jehan’s nerves hinted that he was about to snap he decided that friendly camaraderie was not what he needed at the moment. What he needed was blessed solitude. He quietly crept from the living room and shut himself into the bathroom.

He’d just curled himself into a shaking ball, his forehead resting on his knees, when he heard a gentle tap on the door. Jehan let out a whimper and hugged his knees more tightly.

He was left alone with his painfully erratic breathing and choked sobs for a few minutes. Half of Jehan cherished the solitude while he was feeling so awful, and the other half wished that whoever had tapped on the door had made more of an effort to get him to open it. He found himself thinking of a particular embrace, and the scent of a foreign fabric softener on a crisp collared shirt.

To his great surprise, the sense memory soothed him. His breathing was still quick and panicky, but the painful sobs disappeared. He closed his eyes, and imagined Combeferre’s soothing voice telling him he was okay. Jehan had a good imagination, honed through years of focusing his mind through meditations designed to help him control his panics. The mental-Combeferre he summoned was almost as good as the real thing.

Then he heard some soothing music, but it wasn’t just his imagination. Someone standing just outside the bathroom was playing Deva Premal on low volume. Jehan made a small noise that was almost a laugh, then closed his eyes and started chanting the Gayatri Mantra along with the recording. He opened his eyes again when he heard a scraping noise, and watched as Combeferre’s tablet was slid under the door closer to him, still playing the music. He just barely caught sight of Combeferre’s fingertips as he nudged his tablet closer.

It was followed by a post-it with the message ‘I made tea. Come and talk when you’re ready’ scribbled on it.

Jehan chanted along with the recordings for a good twenty minutes. Chanting was good for him; it forced regularity on his breathing, and when he had his breath the rest of the physical reactions to the panic weren’t as sharp. The transient state passed, and when it did he felt incredibly soothed and peaceful, which wasn’t his typical reaction to a panic. Usually he felt shaky and depleted.

Jehan switched off the tablet, unlocked the bathroom door, and made his way to the kitchen. Combeferre was sitting at the table with a couple of delicious smelling mugs in front of him. Considering the hour he’d brewed a fruity herbal, and it smelled heavenly. As his tablet had been occupied, he was reading from a book he’d snatched from one of Enjolras’ shelves when Jehan walked in, but he set the book on the table as soon as he noticed the quiet tread.

The cowlick he sported contrasted oddly with the serious-nerd persona his reading glasses always leant him. He looked adorable, and it only made Jehan’s smile brighter.

“Thank you, Combeferre.” Jehan wasn’t sure what else to say, so he set the tablet on the table in front of his friend. He’d have to write him something. He was always at his best when he had the distance of pen and paper to let him collect his thoughts, and he felt a burning need to convey exactly how much Combeferre’s steady support meant to him.

“You’re welcome. How are you feeling?” Combeferre pulled a chair closer and Jehan sat down angled towards him. Their knees were brushing.

“Perfectly well, thank you. Putting on Deva Premal was a good call. I wasn’t aware you were into meditative music.”

“You’ve expanded a lot of my horizons. Apparently without noticing, in some cases.” Combeferre was wearing the most enchanting little grin. “I’m glad you’re feeling better. I…I’ve been worrying about you a lot lately. I don’t want you to misunderstand it.”

A worry Jehan couldn’t quite define pierced his equanimity, but he didn’t have time to examine the feeling because Combeferre continued speaking.

“It’s not that I think you’re weak or that you need protection, or that it would even be my place to do so. I’m not…I actually admire you so much, Jehan. You hide the depth of your struggles fairly well, but from what I’ve glimpsed here and there the battle with your anxiety is daily, isn’t it?”

Jehan slowly nodded. “Daily, hourly, minutely. I can spot the obvious triggers, but there’s really no way to predict when I’ll have a good day or a bad day so I’ve developed coping strategies. They’re not perfect, but-”

“They’re incredible. I’m in such awe of you. And the fact that you’ve put yourself in harm’s way to help Grantaire shows such remarkable strength of character. I hope he appreciates what you’ve given him, and I think the best case scenario would be for him to emulate you.”

Jehan eyed him in confusion, wondering if Combeferre meant what he thought he meant. “’Ferre…I’m, I’m not at all what you’re making me out to be. I’m no one to emulate. I’m quiet and small and despairingly weak. I struggle just to go to school and see my friends for a few hours on a given day. I wouldn’t wish my life on anyone.”

“Going to school and going to the Musain and organizing demonstrations and picketing is harder for you than it is for us, but you’re one of the most committed. You show more strength in the simple, dedicated way you approach your life than the rest of us, even if we’re louder and more boisterous about it. I admire you, Jehan.” Combeferre clasped his hand, and for a moment he looked oddly shy as he gazed at their joined hands. “I hope you can see why.”

“I think you’re making too much of me, but thank you all the same. It’s always nice to be complimented.” Even if the compliments were a bit exaggerated and patently untrue. “We should probably go to bed. I’m sure the morning is going to be taxing even for those of us with genuine strength.”

Combeferre looked disappointed, but he assented so the two of them cleaned up and returned to the living room.

Jehan smiled brightly when he caught sight of Enjolras and Grantaire. They were snuggled together in a mound of blankets, Enjolras enfolded in Grantaire’s arms, both dead to the world. Grantaire looked uncharacteristically peaceful, not a hint of his perpetual pain on his features. Enjolras looked nothing short of angelic.

Jehan tapped Combeferre’s arm and pointed to the slumbering lovers. Combeferre didn’t look quite as happy about the sight as Jehan felt, but he mustered a smile for him. Jehan shrugged it off. He still privately believed that Grantaire’s feelings for Enjolras could provide the key to his recovery; the poor tortured soul would never care to get healthy for his own sake, but confronted as he was with the pain he was causing Enjolras he was finally seeing a true need to gain strength. Not for his own sake, but for the sake of someone he loved, Grantaire could move mountains.

But no one else seemed to share his convictions so he remained silent and set about remaking his little nest of blankets and pillows. Combeferre hovered by the doorway, looking pensive. Respectful of the fact that he might need some space of his own, but wanting to show his appreciation for Combeferre’s friendship and support in the little ways available to him, Jehan made up a bed for Combeferre on the other side of the coffee table, giving him the choicest pillows and blankets from what remained (the best of the stock had already been given to Grantaire for his poor hip and bad leg).

Once he was finished, Jehan smoothed the top blanket, shot Combeferre a warm smile, and then crawled over to his own blanket nest. He was stopped by a gentle touch to his arm. Jehan looked up and found Combeferre crouched over him. He wasn’t wearing his reading glasses anymore, so Jehan was met with the full power of the thoughtful hazel gaze without any obscuring barrier, however minute.

Combeferre softly touched Jehan’s chin, tilting his face up, and for a second Jehan thought he was about to be kissed. Combeferre might have intended to do so, but he seemed to think better of it and dropped his kiss on Jehan’s smooth forehead instead.

He was about to retreat, but then Jehan threw his arms around Combeferre’s neck and pulled him close for a slow, tender kiss.

The next morning the sun rose on two quiet couples, embracing each other in peaceful slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Combeferre/Jehan is probably what rescued this fic from limbo. They're so frickin' cute together. Hope you guys agree! And sorry about them stealing the spotlight from the e/R. The next chapter should strike a better balance between the two love stories.
> 
> Also, if you're still reading please let me know what you think. Feedback is always appreciated :)

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! If you like my stuff, please consider finding me on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/valerie.maiers It's a pen-name account. I share thoughts on writing and updates about my various writing projects, both the fanfic and the professional stuff ;)


End file.
